by Garon Whited
“I read you. What you need to know is I don’t like you, don’t trust you, and it’s damn difficult to believe I’m having this conversation.”
“I understand. So, we do our thing, deal with an undead monster, and back slowly away from each other?”
“If we don’t try to kill each other first, that’s about the size of it.”
“This is going to be tricky, making both of us feel reasonably safe,” I mused. “I suspect we’re both going to have to extend a little trust.”
“I don’t like that.”
“I don’t, either. I’m not convinced you know the difference between a vampire and a nightlord.”
“What’s a nightlord?”
“’There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio’,” I quoted. “The vampires with which you are familiar are soul-devouring minions of an evil entity.”
“I know. They’re spawn of the Devil.”
“Granted. A nightlord, on the other hand, is not. We’re like regular people—some good, some bad, some indifferent. We get to keep our souls until we’re killed. Then we rise as soulless monsters. In the meantime, we’re just trying to get by as best we can.”
“I don’t believe you,” he told me, but I thought I detected a bit of uncertainty creeping into his voice. Maybe he did believe me, a little. Maybe he wanted to believe me. Maybe it was too good an explanation for my behavior—a black-hearted monster would have killed him by now. Maybe he had a tiny spark of hope some of the monsters out there weren’t trying to infect and consume all of humanity.
How long has he been hunting monsters? Is it a happy profession? Is it one where there’s hope of winning? Or is it like hunting carnivorous cockroaches? There are always more, and you’ll never win. The best you can hope for is to keep them beaten back, beaten down, so they don’t overwhelm the world.
Kind of reminds me of drug-dealing semi-gods with plans for world domination.
“You don’t have to believe me,” I replied. “I’m okay with that.”
“Just so we’re clear.”
“No problem. Now, about the containment facility. Is there anything you feel should definitely be included?”
“Cameras. Motion-picture cameras. They don’t show up on film too good, but it’s worth trying.”
“They don’t?”
“No. That’s one of the ways we can tell. They’re blurry on film and they look like shadows in mirrors.”
I refrained from any comparisons.
“Good to know. What else?”
“Chains, not ropes. Their claws will cut rope. No windows. Lots of lights. Some of them can change into wolves or bats, so be prepared for that. I heard of one that could summon darkness. Blinded a team by blocking their lights and killed most of them.”
“I understand. What else?”
“Some sort of final option. Flamethrowers, maybe. An emergency button to roast everything, just in case.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you back with more details when I have them.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Well?” Mary asked. “How did it go?”
“He was… surprisingly reasonable.”
“Save one grandchild from a slow, painful death and it’s almost like you might not be a horrible person.”
“We’ve had some long, bitter conversations. We don’t like each other or trust each other, but I’ll settle for him not actively looking for a way to kill me.”
“Us,” Mary corrected. “Us. You’re not keeping me out of this.”
“Very true. I think we need to give the Reynolds family some extra armor, though. Rigid pieces for the neck and forearms.”
“Not a bad thought.”
“We also need to track down someplace to use as a vampire containment facility.”
“Way ahead of you.”
“Oh?”
“I figured you didn’t want to keep it here, so I started looking around. I’ve got two possibilities.”
“Hit me.”
“I’ve read some sales material for a nice little hillside villa. We’ve already got liquid capital from the pullout, so we might just write them a check for it if it’s up to snuff. We can probably sell it at a loss when we leave, but at least we’ll realize something from it. Assuming we don’t burn it to the ground.”
No promises.
“Thank you, Firebrand,” Mary muttered. “The other one is an abandoned lead mine.”
“A mine?”
“I haven’t been out to look at it, so I’m not sure the house has a basement,” Mary pointed out. “We’ll want one. The mine has the advantages of privacy and sunlight-proofing, but the house has water, power, all that stuff. It’s also less conspicuous to have a party at your house, rather than in your abandoned mine. Fewer neighbors complain about too much noise from the mine, though. There are trade-offs.”
“All true. Okay. Check on the basement and I’ll get to work on tracking down some Los Angeles monsters.”
“I already called the realtors. I’ve got a viewing of the villa tomorrow, but I can look over the mine once the sun quits beating down on us.”
“I like the way you think.”
“Since we have an hour or two until that happens, though, I plan to enjoy your mortality.”
“My mortality?”
She kissed me and I understood.
The Manor, Saturday, December 2nd, 1939
We eventually decided on the lead mine. While the villa was sufficiently isolated for the purpose, it was also capable of being burned to the ground. The villa also had lovely views. Views work both ways. Any interested party needed nothing more than binoculars to keep tabs on the place.
The mine, on the other hand, was a collection of tunnels. There, I could import some robot labor from Apocalyptica and turn Diogenes loose on the place. True, it was a longer drive and involved an unmarked dirt road, but anyone wanting to do nasty things would be easier to spot. Besides, the mine was much more sturdy than the villa. True, the mine didn’t have much of an escape hatch, but one of the portable shift-booths in a hidden side tunnel provided an avenue for both logistics and escape.
Once I had a short-ranged, Boojum-detecting compass for Mary to use, I popped through Apocalyptica on my way to The Manor to check in. As I headed down the Hall of Doors, Diogenes gave me a report. It was late morning in The Manor, the war was progressing pretty much on schedule, and seven more German aircraft exploded mid-air or bit dirt when they came within line-of-sight from the house. Tough luck for them. I was more concerned about Trixie.
Rest and relaxation in the intensified magical environment did her a world of good. She was up and around, flittering across her micro-pond, making ripple patterns. She seemed sluggish and tired to me, but she wasn’t in pain and her appetite was good. I was glad I had Mr. Gillespie plant gillyflowers.
“Good afternoon, Trixie.”
“Hullo, Dark One.” I ignored the title.
“How are we feeling today?”
“One of us is tired,” she admitted, making a slow circle in her pixie-bath.
“Maybe you should go back to bed.”
“It’s not the resting. It’s the playing.”
“The playing?”
“I haven’t played in days.”
“Oh. You need to play with children?”
“They believe the best,” Trixie assured me.
“All right. Here,” I handed her the presents. “Wear these. I don’t want you trapped in a jar again.”
Trixie examined the gifts and was puzzled at the V-shaped garment.
“I’ve never had clothes before.”
“They’re gifts.”
“How do I wear this?”
“I’ll help.”
With a little assistance, Trixie dressed. The awkward part was fitting her wings through the sides, but they have no bones—they’re membranes. We went over the purposes and functions of her new gadgets. She seemed impressed at everything, but she’s a pixie. I�
��m not sure the bar is all that high to impress a pixie.
“Now,” I cautioned, “you do know a sword is not a toy.”
“Of course! Swords are for nobles of the Court. Am I a noble?”
“Are you?”
“Nope!” she told me, cheerily. “I’m a pixie!”
“A pixie with a sword.”
“Oh. Do I have to give it back?”
“What for?”
“I’m not a noble.”
“That’s easily fixed. I’m a king. You are now a noble—a knight of the court of Karvalen, as signified by the gift of a sword from the hand of the King of Karvalen. Wear it with honor and draw it in anger only to defend yourself or others.”
Trixie drew the sword very carefully and regarded it with a peculiar intensity.
“I’ve never had a sword before.”
“Now you do. And you have the responsibility of bearing it in my name.”
“I understand,” she said, soberly.
“Good. Are we clear on the knife and necklace?”
“Cutting and screaming,” she said, indicating each item.
“Very good. Okay, step out of the magical containment field and we’ll go for a walk.”
“Out of the what?” she asked, head cocking to one side.
“Step out of the sparkly area and you can ride my shoulder.”
“Yay!”
She sheathed her weapon and fluttered up to my shoulder. I held my hand under her in case suddenly leaving the high-energy environment caused her to drop into a coma. But no, she landed on my shoulder without incident, sat down on it, and gripped my earlobe.
“Settled?”
“Yes, Dark One.”
“Good. Let’s see if Jenny and her friends are playing somewhere.”
They were. It was a chill and blustery day with fitful bursts of cold rain, so Jenny and two other girls about her age were playing in the library of the manor. An older girl was supervising, and I noticed a silver tray on one of the small tables. Tea and biscuits? Scones and jam? Probably. It would be the proper thing to do for young guests, and I have a very proper butler.
Trixie wasted no time. She squealed at a pitch inaudible to human ears and dived for Jenny, plastering herself against the front of Jenny’s dress like a cartoon bug on a windshield. Jenny squealed at a pitch just inside the range of human hearing and hugged Trixie. The other two girls squealed along with them and attempted to squeeze Jenny and Trixie.
I was worried for Trixie’s health. A puppy might not survive such treatment. They need to breathe. Trixie, however, is made of sterner stuff. She was instantly happier and much more energetic.
I sat down, applied jam to a scone, and watched the four of them run around the library.
Trixie claimed to be fully recovered from her iron exposure. She never touched it. She was only in proximity to it for a while. Between the magic, flower petals, and close contact with delighted children, I had to agree she seemed to be doing well. I went to consult with Graves and Hammond.
Graves reported nothing untoward, but Hammond was apologetic.
“I’m sorry, Squire, but the rains don’t do us any good. It’s bloody hard to dig in the wet. Makes laying pipe harder than it needs to be.”
“The trenches fill up with water?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Okay. Can we put up a tent—or several in a row—and you do your digging under it?”
“I… yes, I suppose. I mean, I don’t think it’s been done, but I don’t see why we couldn’t. We’ll have to find a place for the poles, I suppose, and we’ll need someone who knows how to raise the things.”
“I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”
Hammond cocked his head at me.
“Begging your pardon,” he began, “but are we in private?”
“This is my study, in my wing. It’s as private as we’re likely to get. You can bolt the door if you think it needful.”
“No, I just wanted to make sure we were having a… a private discussion. One that can be off the record, I think the phrase is.”
“Of course. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m overstepping, sir, and I know it, but my suspicions affect the work, that sort of thing?”
“Suspicions?”
“Well, you’re in a hurry to finish this, I can see that. You’ve got assets and you’re willing to spend whatever it takes.”
“True. What does all this tell you?”
“I’m not sure, but I think you’re going away. You want to put the school together and leave. I could be wrong,” he added, hastily. “P’raps this is just a cover for some Most Secret project for the government, but I have grave doubts about that. I don’t know, and that’s a fact. But I worry.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m the manager of the works. It’s my job to worry.”
I nodded, thoughtfully. My hurry to get the place built was more from the urge to see the children well-housed, well-educated, and well-fed. While I liked the idea of having a school, even teaching in a school again, I recognized my own motives were less educational and more protective.
Maybe I don’t suck at being a guardian quite as badly as I thought. I’m loads better at avenging.
“I’m an American,” I told Hammond. “I’ve other interests besides a school. I can’t keep my eye on this place if I’m across the Atlantic, now can I?”
“Very true, Squire, and I’m sorry if I presume, but couldn’t I keep the schedule up?”
“Did you think of the tents? And do you want to place a transatlantic call every time you want to talk to me?”
“Also true,” he admitted.
“Don’t I keep out of your way? When I’m not hammering or sawing or something, anyway.”
“It still bothers me that I’m keeping you here when you’d rather be off somewhere else. I feel sure I could let you go on about your affairs, even if it does cost us some time.”
“It’s only an inconvenience,” I assured him. “I’m not suffering by being here. In point of fact, I have to pop off soon. Business in the cities, you know. I assure you, I want this project completed, but I am not neglecting my other interests. Carry on and ask Graves to reach me if you have a problem.”
“I’ll do that. I’m sorry if I’ve crossed a line, Squire.”
“As you say, it’s your job to worry,” I assured him. “Well done, Hammond. You just keep hard at it. And let everyone on your work crews know I’m very pleased with their progress.”
“I surely will.”
That night, up on the roof, I watched the skyguard shoot down two more planes. They were small things, single-engine props, most likely on a reconnaissance mission. I didn’t see any bombs and they didn’t blow up. They lost structural integrity under the bombardment of invisible laser beams and their fuel caught fire, making meteoric descents. I saw a faint, glowing line in the air when the laser fired, but I was looking down the length of the beam, or almost. I doubt anyone else would notice it.
Trixie watched them fall out of the sky with me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“Oh, I’m perfectly all right,” she assured me, sitting on my shoulder and thumping her heels against my collarbone. “Harald isn’t sad anymore.”
“Harald?” I echoed. “Did you talk to him?”
“Yes.”
“How did that go?”
“He was sad when I disappeared, so I told him he wasn’t supposed to be sad.”
“Did you also tell him I’ll beat his backside until it glows if he lays a hand on you again?”
“No.” Trixie held my ear and leaned far forward to look me in one eye. I looked sideways to meet her gaze. “Would you really?”
“Yes.”
“I love you, too,” she replied.
“That’s not what I said.”
“Yes, it is.”
“If you say so. But Harald better not get all handsy with you.”
“You wouldn’t… you wou
ldn’t hurt him?”
“No. He’s a child. He doesn’t know what he did could have killed you. But he needs to learn that lesson and learn it well so he doesn’t risk my Trixie’s life again.”
“Oh, he knows,” Trixie assured me, brightly, and parked herself on my shoulder again. “I explained.”
“He doesn’t strike me as the type to take an explanation to heart.”
“I had to show him.”
“Show him?” I echoed.
“Fairy magic,” she clarified.
“I see,” I said, although I didn’t. Fairy magic is magic, yes, but it’s done in ways I don’t comprehend. As far as I can tell, fairies are creatures of magic, not merely manipulators of it. “So, he’s not going to try and grab you again?”
“Nope!”
“He hasn’t been turned into anything, has he?”
“No, he’s still a Harald. Now he knows how to play without needing to keep.”
“Well… that’s fair. I suppose. It certainly sounds better than my idea.”
“I agree, Dark One.”
I sighed. She’s always going to call me that. There’s no getting away from it.
Flintridge, Saturday, October 11th, 1969
Diogenes kept a constant link to The Manor and to Flintridge. We didn’t need the two universes coming drastically out of sync, not with the projects going on in each. It would be awkward to explain why I ignored the vampire capture plan for thirty-six years while I spent a weekend in The Manor.
The connection to Flintridge also meant he could directly control the robot workforce in the mine. Hundreds of the things crawled all over the place, cutting, carving, smoothing, pouring, spraying, welding. It didn’t take long before the robots were done refurbishing the tunnels. It was time to go hunt down a Boojum bloodsucker.
I did take a brief pause in Apocalyptica on my way to meet Mary.
“Diogenes?”
“Yes, Professor?”
“Any word from Karvalen?”
“No, Professor.”