Black Knight Read online

  “No.”

  He glances at a folder on his desk, flips it open. He clears his throat, and again I hear his tiredness, as well as his fear. But is he afraid of me? I am not sure. Besides the gun under his coat, he has another be­neath some papers at the other side of his desk. I smell the gunpowder in the bullets, the cold steel. A lot of firepower to meet a teenage girl. I hear a faint scratch of moving metal and plastic. He is taping the conver­sation.

  “First off I should tell you who I am,” he says. “As I said on the phone, I am a private detective. My business is my own—I work entirely freelance. People come to me to find loved ones, to research risky investments, to provide protection, when necessary, and to get hard-to-find background information on certain individuals.”

  I smile. “And to spy.”

  He blinks. “I do not spy, Miss Perne.”

  “Really.” My smile broadens. I lean forward, the tops of my breasts visible at the open neck of my black silk blouse. “It is late, Mr. Riley. Tell me what you want.”

  He shakes his head. “You have a lot of confidence for a kid.”

  “And you have a lot of nerve for a down-on-his-luck private dick.”

  He doesn’t like that. He taps the open folder on his desk. “I have been researching you for the last few months, Miss Perne, ever since you moved to Mayfair. You have an intriguing past, as well as many invest­ments. But I’m sure you know that.”

  “Really.”

  “Before I begin, may I ask how old you are?”

  “You may ask.”

  “How old are you?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  He smiles. He thinks he has scored a point. He does not realize that I am already considering how he should die, although I still hope to avoid such an extreme measure. Never ask a vampire her age. We don’t like that question. It’s very impolite. Mr. Riley clears his throat again, and I think that maybe I will strangle him.

  “Prior to moving to Mayfair,” he says, “you lived in Los Angeles—in Beverly Hills in fact—at Two-Five-Six Grove Street. Your home was a four-thousand-square-foot mansion, with two swimming pools, a tennis court, a sauna, and a small observatory. The property is valued at six-point-five million. To this day you are listed as the sole owner, Miss Perne.”

  “It’s not a crime to be rich.”

  “You are not just rich. You are very rich. My research indicates that you own five separate estates scattered across this country. Further research tells me that you probably own as much if not more property in Europe and the Far East. Your stock and bond assets are vast—in the hundreds of millions. But what none of my research has uncovered is how you came across this incredible wealth. There is no record of a family anywhere, and believe me, Miss Perne, I have looked far and wide.”

  “I believe you. Tell me, whom did you contact to gather this information?”

  He enjoys that he has my interest. “My sources are of course confidential.”

  “Of course.” I stare at him; my stare is very powerful. Sometimes, if I am not careful, and I stare too long at a flower, it shrivels and dies. Mr. Riley loses his smile and shifts uneasily. “Why are you researching me?”

  “You admit that my facts are accurate?” he asks.

  “Do you need my assurances?” I pause, my eyes still on him. Sweat glistens on his forehead. “Why the research?”

  He blinks and turns away with effort. He dabs at the perspiration on his head. “Because you fascinate me,” he says. “I think to myself, here is one of the wealthi­est women in the world, and no one knows who she is. Plus she can’t be more than twenty-five years old, and she has no family. It makes me wonder.”

  “What do you wonder, Mr. Riley?”

  He ventures a swift glance at me; he really does not like to look at me, even though I am very beautiful. “Why you go to such extremes to remain invisible,” he says.

  “It also makes you wonder if I would pay to stay invisible,” I say.

  He acts surprised. “I didn’t say that.”

  “How much do you want?”

  My question stuns him, yet pleases him. He does not have to be the first to dirty his hands. What he does not ­realize is that blood stains deeper than dirt, and that the stains last much longer. Yes, I think again, he may not have that long to live.

  “How much are you offering?” he ventures.

  I shrug. “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you tell me who pointed you in my direction.”

  He is indignant. “I assure you that I needed no one to point me in your direction. I discovered your interesting qualities all by myself.”

  He is lying, of that I am positive. I can always tell when a person lies, almost always. Only remarkable people can fool me, and then they have to be lucky. But I do not like to be fooled—so one has to wonder at even their luck.

  “Then my offer is nothing,” I say.

  He straightens. He believes he is ready to pounce. “Then my counteroffer, Miss Perne, is to make what I have discovered public knowledge.” He pauses. “What do you think of that?”

  “It will never happen.”

  He smiles. “You don’t think so?”

  I smile. “You would die before that happened.”

  He laughs. “You would take a contract out on my life?”

  “Something to that effect.”

  He stops laughing, now deadly serious, now that we are talking about death. Yet I keep my smile since death amuses me. He points a finger at me.

  “You can be sure that if anything happened to me the police would be at your door the same day,” he says.

  “You have arranged to send my records to someone else,” I say. “Just in case something should happen to you?”

  “Something to that effect.” He is trying to be witty. He is also lying. I slide back farther into my chair. He thinks I am relaxing, but I position myself so that my legs are straight out. If I am to strike, I have decided, it will be with my right foot.

  “Mr. Riley,” I say. “We should not argue. You want something from me, and I want something from you. I am prepared to pay you a million dollars, to be deposited in whatever account you wish, in whatever part of the world you desire, if you will tell me who made you aware of me.”

  He looks me straight in the eye, tries to, and surely he feels the heat building up inside me because he flinches before he speaks. His voice comes out uneven and confused. He does not understand why I am suddenly so intimidating.

  “No one is interested in you except me,” he says.

  I sigh. “You are armed, Mr. Riley.”

  “I am?”

  I harden my voice. “You have a gun under your coat. You have a gun on your desk under those papers. You are taping this conversation. Now, one might think these are all standard blackmail precautions, but I don’t think so. I am a young woman. I don’t look dangerous. But someone has told you that I am more dangerous than I look and that I am to be treated with extreme caution. And you know that that someone is right.” I pause. “Who is that someone, Mr. Riley?”

  He shakes his head. He is looking at me in a new light, and he doesn’t like what he sees. My eyes continue to bore into him. A splinter of fear has entered his mind.

  “H-how do you know all these things?” he asks.

  “You admit my facts are accurate?” I mimic him.

  He shakes his head again.

  Now I allow my voice to change, to deepen, to resonate with the fullness of my incredibly long life. The effect on him is pronounced; he shakes visibly, as if he is suddenly aware that he is sitting next to a monster. But I am not just any monster. I am a vampire, and in many ways, for his sake, that may be the worst monster of all.

  “Someone has hired you to research me,” I say. “I know that for a fact. Please do
n’t deny it again, or you will make me angry. I really am uncontrollable when I am angry. I do things I later regret, and I would regret killing you, Mr. Riley—but not for long.” I pause. “Now, for the last time, tell me who sent you after me, and I will give you a million dollars and let you walk out of here alive.”

  He stares at me incredulously. His eyes see one thing and his ears hear another, I know. He sees a pretty blond girl with startlingly blue eyes, and he hears the velvety voice of a succubus from hell. It is too much for him. He begins to stammer.

  “Miss Perne,” he begins. “You misunderstand me. I mean you no harm. I just want to complete a simple business deal with you. No one has to . . . get hurt.”

  I take in a long, slow breath. I need air, but I can hold my breath for over an hour if I must. Yet now I let out the breath before speaking again, and the room cools even more. And Mr. Riley shivers.

  “Answer my question,” I say simply.

  He coughs. “There is no one else.”

  “You’d better reach for your gun.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You are going to die now. I assume you prefer to die fighting.”

  “Miss Perne—”

  “I am five thousand years old.”

  He blinks. “What?”

  I give him my full, uncloaked gaze, which I have used in the past—alone—to kill. “I am a vampire,” I say softly. “And you have pissed me off.”

  He believes me. Suddenly he believes every horror story he has been told since he was a little boy. That they were all true: the dead things hungering for the warm living flesh; the bony hand coming out of the closet in the black of night; the monsters from another page of reality, the unturned page—who could look so human, so cute.

  He reaches for his gun.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Christopher Pike is the bestselling author of young adult novels. The Thirst series, The Secret of Ka, and the Remember Me and Alosha trilogies are some of his favorite titles. He is also the author of several adult novels, including Sati and The Season of Passage. Thirst and Alosha are slated to be released as feature films. Pike currently lives in Santa Barbara, where it is rumored he never leaves his house.

  MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT

  KIDS.SimonandSchuster.com

  authors.simonandschuster.com/Christopher-Pike

  ALSO BY

  Christopher Pike

  THE THIRST SERIES

  REMEMBER ME

  THE SECRET OF KA

  UNTIL THE END

  BOUND TO YOU

  CHAIN LETTER

  WITCH WORLD, VOL. 1: RED QUEEN

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people,

  or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events

  are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or

  places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This Simon Pulse edition December 2014

  Text copyright © 2014 by Christopher Pike

  Cover photographs copyright © 2014 by Marta Bevacqua/Trevillion Images

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Book design by Regina Flath

  Jacket designed by Regina Flath

  The text of this book was set in Garamond.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Pike, Christopher, 1955–

  Black knight / Christopher Pike. — First Simon Pulse edition.

  p. cm. — (Witch world ; 2)

  Summary: New dangers await Jessie, who possesses extraordinary powers and the ability to exist in both the real world and an alternate one known as witch world.

  [1. Witches—Fiction. 2. Supernatural—Fiction. 3. Love—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.P626Bl 2014

  [Fic]—dc23

  2013042274

  ISBN 978-1-4424-6733-0 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4424-6734-7 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-4424-6735-4 (eBook)