by Garon Whited
“I agree, but maybe Ted will still be reasonable about giving our things back. What do you want to do?”
“I say we liquidate everything.”
“Now you’re talking!”
“Liquidate our financial assets,” I clarified, “not kill everything that moves.”
“Sometimes you’re less fun than I like,” she complained.
“On the other hand, I’ll help you with Salvatore. Do you want to eat him, pummel him, or just terrify him?”
“Yes, but in reverse order.”
I sighed. The female of the species is more deadly than the male—and more vicious.
“All right. I need to pop back to The Manor and drive away. Once I get parked, I’ll pop over to Flintridge—no, someone burned down our shift-booth. Hmm.”
“I can do the preliminary work on a shift-booth here, if you like.”
“Are you sure? It’s a depressingly low-magic environment.”
“I can do it,” she insisted. “I’ve studied under the Master of Gates.”
“Yeah, but how good a pupil were you?”
“Shut up.”
“Okay, do it. Any big garage should be good enough. We need a place to drop property.”
“Oh? You’re serious about pulling out of Flintridge?”
“Yes. It’s nothing but trouble and I’m tired of dealing with the complications. All I want to do is get our stuff back—I’m sentimental about my sword and rings, but mostly I want the amulets. There’s an immense amount of work tied up in those things. I don’t want to spend several days on rebuilding each of them.”
“If I may, Professor,” Diogenes interrupted, “I have built extras, modeled on your designs. They require only enchantment.”
“I meant that. Enchanting them. Thank you, though. I didn’t know we had extras to be enchanted. I’ll enchant spares for us some other time.”
“You are welcome, Professor.”
“So,” Mary resumed, “we kick some vampire-hunter ass, take back what they took, sell everything we own here, pack up, and move on?”
“Pretty much. I’m not sure I want to kick generic ass, but there will doubtless be moments when specific asses must be kicked. I presume you’re volunteering?”
“Yes. I’m still annoyed about being buried with my eyes open. The mouthful of salt wasn’t fun, but being unable to blink? They could have at least closed my eyes. Rude creatures.”
“Understandable. You make plans for Salvatore and his Templars. I’ll make plans for Ted and the Numbskulls. I’ll be over in a bit.”
“See you soon!”
We hung up and I thought for a moment about Ted and the Numbskulls. Phone calls aren’t doing it. They say they want to meet, but I suspect they just want another shot at me. Maybe I’m just a distrustful sort. Is there any way I can turn this around? How can I see them in person and not get instantly attacked?
“Diogenes, I need a vest.”
Flintridge, Sunday, September 28th, 1969
I went back to The Manor, drove to Maryport, parked, and shifted back to Apocalyptica. I might be gone a while, so I didn’t want people breaking down my door to see if I was still alive.
I arrived in Flintridge late enough on Saturday night most people would call it Sunday morning. Mary met us in the garage of our new house. It wasn’t a very nice house, truth be told, but it had a separate building the previous owners had remodeled into a two-car garage. Mary did spell-work in the garage to define it as a space for cross-world transit, so Bronze and I—along with the Impala and two large duffels of equipment—appeared there. We were warned, so she kept her head down, over my shoulder, when we shifted. The garage had a number of crossbeams that might have been in the way, so the transit volume only extended to the lower edge of them.
I just got her back. I don’t want her decapitated. Awkward. Embarrassing. Possibly not lethal to her in a statue form, though. I’ll avoid testing it, thank you.
I swung the garage door up with a sound of scraping metal and the twang of heavy springs. Mary bowed with a flourish.
“One shift-booth,” she said, “courtesy of your apprentice.”
“I would be impressed, but I know how astoundingly capable you are.”
“That’s a rather left-handed compliment.”
“You’ve done a spectacular job and I doubt anyone else could have done it.”
“That’s better. What’s with the car?”
“Bronze wanted to come along. If we have to go somewhere without drawing enormous amounts of attention, she can drive.”
Bronze nodded and snorted.
“Sounds good.” Mary glanced at Bronze. “This possessing spirit thing is going to take a little getting used to.”
“You think you have it hard? Imagine how Bronze feels.”
“Good point,” she allowed. I nodded toward the house.
“What sort of foundation does the house have?”
“Pier and beam. No basement.”
“You’ll step right through the floors,” I told Bronze. “You’re already cracking the concrete floor and the garage is on solid ground.” She flicked an ear and rang her mane. It didn’t matter to her. I hugged her neck and she blew hot air down my collar.
The house wasn’t a derelict, but it needed work. The bathroom was thoroughly light-tight, though, and had running water. Mary had gone to the trouble of both a cleaning spell and a repair spell on the bathroom. Vinyl and linoleum gleamed. The rest of the place was hot, dry wood, smelling of dust and desert. Faint arcs of sun-faded wood decorated the floorboards under several windows. Two windows were freshly boarded up. What furniture remained was old, covered in drapes and sheets and dust.
“How old is this place?” I asked.
“Old enough to be uninteresting to the casual buyer, so I got it cheap and quick—quick, because they were afraid I’d change my mind.”
I rocked back and forth on my feet a little. The boards creaked, but didn’t threaten to give way. I resolved to never risk going upstairs. Aside from that, it seemed quite a nice place. A definite fixer-upper, but it had potential. Pity we wouldn’t be staying.
“I like it.”
“The well water is heavy on minerals,” Mary cautioned, “and the pipes aren’t in the best of shape. We have electricity, but the wiring was put in shortly before the Depression.”
“It’s a lair, not a place to live,” I assured her. “I can put a minor repair spell on the pipes so they won’t give out while we’re here.”
“I’m glad you offered, because doing the shifter in the garage was exhausting. I got Diogenes to send me a small transformer through a gate, but even with it to draw on…” she trailed off, shaking her head.
“No problem. Want to tell me how we’re going to grab Salvatore?”
“Sure!”
“Great! Do it while I cast a few spells. I want to get them done in the dark. We’ll care about the heat and dust once the sun is up.”
“I love you.”
“Where are we, anyway?” I asked, as my cloak turned into a necktie, revealing my new vest. I dug around in a pocket and found a piece of chalk.
“A little north of Bell Mountain, California, east of the I-15. What in the name of sanity are you wearing that for?”
I unbuckled the vest and took it off.
“I may need it later.”
“Is this dynamite?” she asked, examining it.
“Nope. It’s red paper wrapped around something inert. Looks good, though, doesn’t it? I’ve even got little flashing lights, a battery, and a deadman switch for it.”
“I sense a dead man joke in there, somewhere, but I’m not falling for it. Why do you have a suicide bomber vest? A fake suicide bomber vest?”
“It keeps people in close proximity from trying to kill me.”
“Hmm. Possibly. It depends on their level of fanaticism.”
“True, but I’m hoping to talk to Ted rather than just go in swinging.”
“Oh, this sh
ould be good.”
“I hope so. First, tell me about Salvatore and how we’re going to grab him.”
I sketched with the chalk and Mary explained her plan to grab a vampire hunter.
Flintridge, Monday, September 29th, 1969
We took a day to revamp—or just vamp—the house. When we were done, the house was clean, the pipes intact, the furniture livable, and the windows covered in aluminum foil. The water heater still wasn’t up to speed. I started to fix it and discovered gunk growing in the tank.
“Shift to Apocalyptica for bathing?” Mary suggested. I closed the hot-water tap and watched the sludge slowly ooze down the drain. It reminded me of puddles of goo from various transformations. It smelled slightly better.
“Yes. For a while, at least. Right now, we’ll let water trickle through to clean most of it out. I’ll sterilize it later.”
With the basic amenities of a lair established, on Monday we finally got around to planning our raid on Salvatore.
We went out to the garage to spread papers on the Impala’s hood. Bronze poked her head over my shoulder as Mary explained her maps of Salvatore’s house and grounds. It was a sizable house, almost what I’d call a mansion. Mary estimated six bedrooms and bathrooms. The swimming pool was outdoors at the end of one wing, to the left of a large patio-like entertaining area. The patio had plenty of furniture, complete with a massive grill of brick and concrete. The lawn and flowering plants were immaculate, tended by a full-time landscaper. There were no formal security guards to be seen—or, rather, none in uniform. Several visitors came and went during the day, all of them armed. Mary pointed out various locations on the map for me.
“I estimate half a dozen men with handguns and I’m sure they have at least a couple of shotguns somewhere in the house, possibly an automatic weapon or two. The men aren’t professional security, but quite possibly professionals of another sort.”
“Got it,” I agreed. “Any children in the house?”
“No. He’s sent his wife and both kids up to Lake Tahoe. I haven’t nailed down where because I know you won’t care as long as they’re not in the line of fire.”
“I love you.” Bronze snorted hot air down my collar again. I reached up and scratched alongside her jaw.
“It’s mutual,” Mary replied, and added, “Please stop making that sound with your fingernails.”
I stopped scratching. Bronze was amused. The high-pitched skreeeeek noises didn’t even register on my awareness.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t notice.”
“It’s okay. Just don’t do it anymore. Please?”
“I’ll try. What’s this note about the windows?”
“Salvatore’s had some workmen out, redecorating.”
“Oh? Religious motif?”
“Like a battlefield convert,” she agreed. “Ground-floor windows have the clear glass out and faux stained glass put in. Very pretty. There’s a cross on the front door and it’s a functional door-knocker. Other crosses adorn the other doors. I haven’t noticed any actual power in any of them, though. Could I be doing it wrong?”
“No, you couldn’t,” I assured her. “If there’s power in them, you’ll see it. You can’t possibly miss it. You’ve seen the things when they’re active, so you know what I’m talking about. Now, if someone is on the other side of the door and trying to use the cross as a defense… I don’t know if the door being in the way will matter or not. People trying to use them might have to touch them. If it just requires proximity—ah. The cross painted on the inside of the roll-up door at our former drop point. It was on the inside and activated by someone on the outside. My guess is we can’t approach these doors if someone is guarding them. He may not know it requires an active guard, though. He may think two intersecting lines is sufficient.”
“Just making sure. I didn’t want to go up to a window and find I couldn’t touch it, or walk up to an open door and find I needed an invitation.”
“Maybe the local vampires have those problems. We should ask. Or maybe check,” I corrected myself. “If I grab a cross and present it strongly to a local vampire, will he recoil from it? Or will the irony of the situation cause us both to combust?”
Mary cocked her head, thinking.
“I’m having a hard time picturing you with a cross, holding back a vampire.”
“Me, too.”
“Here’s a weird question.”
“Best kind.”
“If you were to hold up… I don’t know, an amulet with a symbol on it, like whatever the simulata of you uses? Would that have the same effect?”
“That’s… a good question,” I allowed, thinking. “I’m guessing it wouldn’t do anything here, since he’s not an entity of this world. Even if it’s a focus for the power produced solely by my own faith, it still wouldn’t do anything.”
“You don’t believe, you just talk to him on occasion.”
“Yep.”
“Fair enough. It might work in Karvalen, though?”
“We can try it, next time were both there.”
“I’m not that interested.”
“Just trying to be helpful. Still, we don’t know how it works with the locals. The symbol alone may have a charm-like power over the soulless minions of evil. Remember the rings on the fanatics who ambushed us? I suspect the more traditional religions—the Holy Cross, the Star of David, whatever else—are either directing divine power through the worshipper, or the worshipper is directing personal force through the symbol. I have no way to tell without broiling my eyeballs. But the symbols themselves were charmed, making it difficult to touch the wearers of the rings. It might be enough to stop the local vampires.”
“I’ll have to find out.”
“I look forward to it. So, Salvatore. Does he have a schedule?”
“Not a reliable one. I haven’t been tracking him long enough to plan a kidnapping as well as I’d like. Assassinating him wouldn’t be a problem, though. I can put a fifty-caliber round through his head at three hundred yards, no problem.”
“You can hit him from farther away than that.”
“Yes, but I feel I can do it reliably at three hundred. It’s not simply hitting him. It’s about putting the bullet somewhere vital. Putting a bullet through a lung might kill him. Putting one through his heart will kill him. It’s moot, though, because I don’t want to kill him. At least, not immediately. First, I want to grab him and explain to him why I’m upset.”
“You don’t want to put a bullet in his head. You want to look him in the eye and have words with him.”
“Yes.”
“Works for me. A man should understand why he’s being brutally murdered. When do we start?”
“Well, they seem to be strangely alert at night.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
“Me, either,” she grinned. “I’m thinking we go in at night, anyway. I don’t like the idea of having people awake and watching. It’s not a crowded neighborhood, but the response time for cops is faster during the day. Neighbors have to wake up before they can complain about the gunfire. Besides, while we might encounter higher-order power problems from the humans, we can take the mundane hits from them better. I think it’s worth it to go in carrying a full load of dark.”
I nodded, thinking it over.
“I must admit, although I plan to cast some deflection spells manually, I’d rather not suck up bullets as a living man.”
“I’m against lead poisoning, too. Look what it did to Rome.”
“As well as Lincoln, Kennedy, and Trump. So, what do we do with the rest of the day?”
“Well, we’re invading a mob boss’s house again…”
“This does seem familiar.”
“We deal with criminals a lot, and they aren’t always honest. When they double-cross us, it’s not like we can go to the police with a grievance.”
“Fair point.”
“But it’s still an unstable situation, unpredictable, chaotic, even dangerous.
So this could be our last night on Earth…” she trailed off, leering suggestively.
I turned my head to look at Bronze. Bronze glanced back at me with one eye.
“Yeah, she’s like that,” I agreed, aloud. Bronze laughed and backed out of the garage, hooves chiming on the concrete and thudding in the dirt of the driveway. She turned in place and launched herself toward the horizon.
“What’s she doing?” Mary asked, moving to stand in the open garage door, shading her eyes with one hand.
“Going for a run.”
“She’s just going to run through the desert while I drag you into bed?”
“Nope.”
“No?”
“She does love to run, you’ve got that right,” I admitted, and scooped Mary up in my arms. “But you’re not dragging me anywhere.”
Mary put her arms around my neck and nibbled on my ear. I hurried into the house.
There are drawbacks to a fixer-upper in the California desert. No air conditioning was one of the bigger downsides. The place didn’t even have a working refrigerator, just one of the ancient, steel-bodied, lead-lined old monsters, complete with an extensive collection of unidentified stains and rust. I spent the effort to layer some solar-absorbing spells over the house. These prevented some of the heat from reaching the building, as well as sending the converted power into a heat-exchange spell, cooling the house further.
I don’t like heat. I have too much mass, too little surface area. I’m a fat man in a skinny-guy suit. It’s worse than a rubber sweatsuit. During the day, I overheat easily, much to Mary’s dismay.
It was still a good day. I just had to take it sprints, rather than a marathon, and hydrate. She was very understanding.
After nightfall and a quick trip for a wash-and-rinse, we dressed for the evening’s entertainment. Mary had her hyperfiber ninja suit with a close-fitting helmet. Her outfit had a few plates over the long bones and some segmented sections over her heart and spine. She likes her mobility, agility, and stealth. I wore something similar, but mine had more padding and plates. I have somewhat thicker, heavier plating and more of it, making me somewhat less mobile, agile, or stealthy. She sneaks. I assault. I anticipated being the diversion, distraction, or target, but that’s pretty much par for the course.