Parry gave Rikive a hug back, steadying his breathing as best he could after that burst of memory from Charles Gordon. It was quickly apparent to him that any memories he could hit Charles with, Charles packed an equal punch to throw back with the caveat that the vampiric sociopath didn't give a flying shit about. Parry could show him the extinction of a dozen cities and it would be no skin off that man's nose.

Meanwhile, Parry would have to sit there and take it if Charles decided to send any more delightful memories through the sword.

After Rikive left, Parry took a second to gather up his emotions and thoughts, along with his clothes. The absence of Charles' tainted fingers on his sword didn't change the fact that Parry felt his soul was forever dirtied by it. Sooner or later, Charles or his associate would lay hands on the sword again and the feeling would return. Parry would have to live with it. Just like he would have to live with whatever they did with the weapon.

Like that image he had of the sword- his sword- slicing through Billy Rikker's spine like a knife through water.

When he followed Rikive down the hall of the bunker and into the "interrogation room" where their vampire was being held, Parry had his hair in a ponytail, his skin still scrubbed red and smelling of expensive melon soap, and his jeans and Gucci shirt were horribly damp.

"Shower's free," he said to the vampire. "And news flash to the group. Charles Gordon used my personal sword to kill Billy Rikker. Whoever the fuck Charles Gordon is."