by DC Malone
He raised a long-fingered hand, and I was certain the interaction, whatever it really was, was about to come to an end.
“I’m not going to stop,” I half-shouted. There was no way I was going to let him spout some vague threats and then leave. I had earned more than that just by getting into Hiram’s coffin.
The man tilted his head a little to the side and watched me intently for a moment. Watching his impossibly dark eyes crawl over me, I still couldn’t shake the feeling he was routing around inside my mind.
“No… I do not suspect you will.” His voice took on a slow, considering quality. “Just as I do not suspect a more overt threat of violence would change your mind. You, Meredith Bale, are driven by unseen forces that you have yet to even suspect. What you see as your own tenacity is really only the iron-clad hand of your puppeteer shaking you for all it can get. How soon before it tires of its toy and casts you asunder?”
My mouth hung open as I searched for a reply. I knew how to handle threats and posturing, but this kind of cryptic code-talk wasn’t exactly my forte. What was he even trying to tell me? That the Congregation was playing me for a fool? That didn’t exactly surprise me, but they certainly hadn’t been pushing me toward the Bessons’ case and whatever surrounded it. They had wanted the exact opposite.
Hadn’t they?
“I see I have given you much to consider,” the man said. “It is a pity you haven’t more time to ponder. I said there would not be a second warning, and there will not.”
He moved closer to me until his eyes, and their unending pools of darkness, were all I could see. Had he actually been there in front of me, they would have been nothing but a dark blur. But in whatever realm of thought we currently occupied, they were as clear as a reflection in a mirror and brimming with malice.
“This is going to hurt,” he whispered. “But not for very long.”
He pulled away and smiled. It was a smile full of perfectly white, dagger-sharp teeth.
Chapter 12
Cold like I had never felt before poured down over my body, threatening to fill my mouth and nose and choke the life out of me. I sputtered and coughed, forcing the cold away and fighting to fill my lungs with anything else.
Another wave of the shocking, blinding stuff and I slammed myself up and into an all-consuming light. Everything was chaos. My senses seemed to burn at the edge of overuse. My lungs burned with the effort of breathing. My eyes stung with…
“You were practically dead to the world.” Hiram resolved into view as he pulled a bright flashlight away from my eyes. His voice sounded far calmer than it should have, given what was just happening to me.
I reached up and brushed away some cold and mildly sticky liquid from my eyes and face. It smelled sweet on my fingertips and was bright orange in color.
“Sorry about the mess… I couldn’t wake you. In the absence of cold water to douse you with, I had to resort to my soda.”
I was sitting up in the coffin. The lights in the storage room were back on, and everything looked just like it had before. It all looked far too mundane. I was inches away from being snuffed out via some kind of vampiric mindmeld. The occasion seemed to call for more than orange soda and Hiram’s dopey grin.
“How long was I out?” I tried to climb up and over the lip of the coffin, but most of the world had seemingly been turned into Jell-O while I was unconscious.
“Five or six minutes,” Hiram said, grudgingly giving me a hand. I ignored his pained looks as he helped me to my feet.
“That’s it? Felt like a lot longer.” Very nearly a lifetime.
“I’m not sure where we went wrong.” Hiram used a handkerchief to dab at the orange stains on the fabric that lined the coffin’s interior. “Perhaps, you were a little too keyed up. We could try a mild tranquilizer and see if—”
“No.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to give up that easily,” Hiram chided. “Surely you weren’t naïve enough to think you would find all of the answers on the first attempt. Even for the Gifted, this kind of thing takes effort and repetition. I could—”
“Will you shut up for a second?” My mind was still scattered in about a thousand directions, but Hiram’s smug monotone was bringing me back to myself faster than a face full of Diet Slice ever could. “I saw something in… in whatever that was I was in.”
“The vision worked? Maybe you should have led with that, Meredith. Do tell. Were you able to get a location for our invisible quarry?”
“I didn’t see the creature,” I said. “I don’t even think what I experienced was part of the vision. It was kind of like I was intercepted on the way there or something.”
“Intercepted by what?”
I thought back to the pale man with his mouthful of needle-sharp teeth. “A man. Or something like one. Let me ask you this before I make a fool out of myself, though.”
“I do so like it when you make a fool of yourself…”
“You were telling me before that real vampires bear little resemblance to the pop culture ones. Are their fangs part of those misconceptions?”
Hiram made a crude sound in his throat. “Not this nonsense again, Meredith. I told you it’s not vampires. They don’t lower themselves to this kind of workaday hogwash.”
“Humor me, man. I just had a near-death experience.”
“We’re Necromancers… most of our more noteworthy experiences are of the near-death variety.”
“Alright, good point.” I was suddenly exhausted, and I was pretty sure my conversation with Hiram accounted for as much of that fatigue as what I went through in the coffin. “But their fangs aren’t like the ones in the movies, are they? They’re much more brutal-looking, right?” I interlocked my fingers and mimed the chomping of long, sharp teeth.
“How do you know that?” Hiram asked, now paying more attention to me. “Less than a week ago, you didn’t even know they were real.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” I knew Hiram was trying to help, in his way. But it was getting progressively more difficult not to punch him. “The man I saw in my mind, he had teeth like something out of a child’s nightmare—an adult’s nightmare, for that matter—and he was trying to fry my brain or something before you shared your soda with me.”
“That… that doesn’t make any sense.” Hiram tapped a finger against his chin. “Why would a vampire be involved in any of this? It’s so out of character.”
“That’s all you’ve got?” I asked. “Murder is pretty out of character for the average human, too, but it still happens all the time. And those teeth of his didn’t look like they were made just for show.”
“It’s not the murder aspect,” Hiram said. “Vampires are so separate from the rest of us. They exist out of time and pay little heed to the minutia of the world around them. And that creature you’re after, where does that thing factor in? I’ve never heard of anything like it, especially in the context of the vampire world.”
I studied Hiram for a moment. Other than being a little green around the gills, his expression seemed completely earnest. More than that, really. He seemed defensive.
“Hiram? What exactly is going on here? From the way you talk about them, it almost sounds like you think vampires are above us or something. Better than us.”
“They are better than us!” He spun away from me and walked a few steps toward the closed door before turning back. “They’re nearly perfect creatures. For years, I’ve made it something of a hobby studying them. They are secretive, so information is rather scarce, but they are fascinating beyond compare.”
“What makes them so interesting… and better than us commoners?” I asked.
“Well, perhaps I misspoke. Better is a subjective term. But they are indeed above most of the trivialities around them. The rise and fall of political factions, pandemics, wars… all of those things are just blips on the map of history to them. A bad week or a good week, depending on who you ask. Vampires are immortal, or as good as
, that much truth bled through into pop culture. Can you imagine being around to watch whole civilizations form and crumble?”
Hiram’s eyes were wide and round with a kind of religious fervor. For a guy who could find something negative to say about winning the lottery, it struck me as a little odd he’d be so enamored with a group of ancient bloodsuckers. I guess everyone has their thing.
He seemed to notice me watching him. “My interest is purely academic, of course,” he said, toning down his enthusiasm. “If they weren’t so reclusive, imagine all that we could learn about the history of the world.”
“Sure, academic,” I said, clearing my throat. “That’s cool. That’s cool.” Hiram had just revealed himself as a vampire groupie, and the associated intrusive images were making it hard to think of anything else.
“Uh, back to our more immediate vampire problem, though,” I said.
“If that is what it is.”
“Okay, but humor me again. Let’s say at least one vampire is involved in all of this.”
“But—”
“Let’s also not worry about motives or historical tendencies,” I continued. “We’ll just assume, for the moment, that I did see a vampire and he did want to kill me to keep me away from whatever is going on.”
“Alright,” Hiram replied. “We’ll play out your thought experiment.”
“Great. First off, how many vampires would you say there are living in the city? Is that something we could narrow down?”
“It certainly is,” he said. “There are none.”
“None?”
Hiram smiled. “I would know. More than that, though, there simply aren’t many vampires, period. And the ones that are around are reclusive to a one. I believe that a life prolonged to such an extent creates a profound psychological need for sol—”
“That’s all mighty interesting, Hiram. Truly. But let’s stick to the pertinent details until we’ve made some real strides on this case, okay? If—when—we nail these people, then you can regale me at length about the psychology of vampires.”
“Alright,” Hiram shrugged. “You’re running this show, I guess.”
“So… are there any vampires you know of that are close to the city. Any that might be in the area for any reason you can think of?”
“There is one… who is nearby. But being a local doesn’t automatically make him your suspect. I highly doubt it, honestly.”
“I’m sure you do, but it’s a place to start. Where is this guy, and what can you tell me about him?”
“His name is Linus Crum.”
I must have smirked because Hiram narrowed his brows at me. “What?”
“Linus Crum?” I asked, not able to keep the smile out of my voice.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I just thought some ancient, immortal vampire would have an equally impressive name to match. Something imposing like Agamemnon or Voldemort…”
Hiram shook his head. “Voldemort? Like from Harry Potter?”
“Well… I didn’t say I thought his name was going to be Voldemort. I just thought it would be intimidating in the same way. I certainly didn’t expect it to be Linus. All that name brings to mind is a little boy clutching his safety blanket.”
Hiram sighed. “Either way, it’s his name. Or, at least, one of them. I gather that his kind changes their names from time to time, which makes sense. After a few hundred years, I would imagine anyone would need a fresh start. A person could acquire quite the baggage over that number of years.”
“And Linus is near the city?”
“He has an estate in a suburb just south of us. Mirehurst, have you been?”
“No, it’s not my kind of town.” From what I knew of it, Mirehurst was the kind of place that cost you money just to look. And unless you were a multimillionaire—or worked for one—you didn’t have a reason to be anywhere close to the neighborhood.
“Strange. I would have thought Mirehurst would have been exactly your kind of town.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I look like a ritzy member of the upper crust or something?” I pawed at some of the leftover orange soda that still clung to my jacket.
“Hardly. But I would have thought your previous line of employment would have had you seeking out the richer areas. You could have funded your whole year on just one robbery in a place like that.”
“You make it sound like I was out casing places for my next score,” I said. “You know I only borrowed from the shades of the recently departed. And I never actually ran into any who were from Mirehurst. I guess even dead rich people don’t like to slum it in the city.”
“Can’t say I blame them,” Hiram said. “Well, anyway, the records I’ve seen say that Crum has lived there for at least the last couple of hundred years.”
“Someone has records of that? Wouldn’t that make the existence of vampires common knowledge?”
“Not really. The records simply show the property being passed down the family line. It isn’t all that hard to get that sort of thing faked. Birth certificates, Social Security numbers… when you’re rich enough, someone’s always ready to fix any and all clerical anomalies.”
“So, what do you know about the man himself?”
“Not as much as I would like,” Hiram said. “Secretive and reclusive don’t really do the man justice. I’ve never seen him.”
“You’ve tried to?”
Hiram shifted awkwardly. “I may have, on occasion, tried to catch a glimpse. Once or twice, I might have waited near his property… for a day or two, to see if he might emerge.”
“Jeez…”
“It’s not that odd,” Hiram scoffed. “Tell me that a paleontologist would do less if he or she knew that a living dinosaur had secreted itself away in some dark cave.”
“Yeah, but that’s a dinosaur, Hiram. This is basically some dude going about his life in his own home. You don’t think what you were doing is a little bit stalker-ish?”
“Anyway,” Hiram said, ignoring my question. “That was a long while ago, and I have since given up any hope of laying eyes on the man.”
“Did you, you know, knock on his door?” I asked.
“What?” Hiram’s eyes widened. “Why would I do that?”
“Well, I’m not sure about your specific situation, but I would bet those paleontologists you were talking about wouldn’t have thought twice about knocking on that cave to see if Dino were still around. I’m just saying…”
“No, I did not,” Hiram replied. “I can’t help but feel something like that would have been demeaning. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t. And demeaning to you or the vampire?”
“Can we get off the topic of my obsess—my interest in vampires?”
“Sure…” I guessed that sooner was better in this particular situation. “Well, aside from exactly where the guy lives, which doesn’t seem like it’s going to be an issue for you, is there anything else I should know before I confront him?”
“Confront him!? You’re going to confront him?”
“Uh, yeah, what did you expect? He might be the guy who just tried to mind flay me in that deathtrap of yours. And if so, he’s also the guy behind whatever it is that’s going on with my case. How dangerous do you think he’ll be?”
“It’s not just a matter of the danger involved. It’s just so… undignified. You can’t go to this magnificent creature’s house and accost him like some common thug. His status alone warrants some kind of consideration in that regard…”
“I have manners,” I said. “I fully planned on bringing my nicest lavender-scented stake.”
“Don’t even joke.”
“Okay, partner, I’ll tell you what. We can discuss the rest of the details on the way there.”
“What!? I’m not going with you.”
“Why not? You were practically salivating at the mention of him. This should be like the opportunity of a lifetime for you.”
“No… not lik
e this. I regret telling you about him now. He’s not your criminal, and now you’re going to go and ruin his reclusion. I wouldn’t be surprised if he uproots and moves after your visit.”
“Okay, have it your way. Guess I’ll be taking that stake then. And a big garish crucifix. I think I even have some garlic in the fridge. It’s in a tube, but I should be able to smear that stuff all over myself. Nosferatu won’t know what hit him.”
Hiram’s mouth tightened into a thin line and he lowered his head.
“See? It won’t be so bad. How much more of that Dramamine do you have with you?”
Chapter 13
I tried to catch up on some sleep during the cab ride down to Mirehurst, but once we were out of the city, the roadways became a sadistic blend of constant, winding curves and rolling topography. Twenty minutes in, and it was all I could do to stifle the dry heaves.
Even in the moonlit dark, the suburb of Mirehurst was a sight to behold, anyway. Multimillion-dollar mansions, few of which were of the McMansion variety, were dotted atop lavishly expansive yards on both sides of the street. It was the kind of place where the real criminals lived. The successful ones, like career politicians and CEOs.
The cabbie let out another shrill whistle. It was his fifth or sixth one, and he did it every time we turned down another street and a new batch of houses came into view. “You two actually know someone who lives in a place like this?” He was an older man with tufts of bright white hair spilling out from beneath his ballcap and skin that looked painfully sunburned. His voice sounded like sandpaper against a wet rock.
“How do you know we don’t live here?” Hiram asked. “Perhaps our driver is off sick for the week.”
“Yeah,” the cabbie laughed. “And I just took this gig for kicks and giggles. Gonna go back to my chateau at the end of the week. Come on, you two have the stink of the city on you. Just like me. No shame in that.”
Hiram grunted. It said a lot about what he thought of sharing any kind of stink with the man behind the wheel.