B007JBKHYW EBOK

by April Campbell Jones

  * * *

  Mitzi snarled and started for the largest vampire, but I grabbed her collar. “No. You stay by Clancy, girl,” I said out loud, “keep an eye on her.”

  “How chivalrous!” the caliph beamed.

  He held out his hand to me. “Good-bye, Mr. Magee! It’s indeed been a pleasure!”

  If I was supposed to shake it I didn’t get the chance. The first muscle-boy grabbed me with a hand the size of a side of beef and hurled me against the bedroom bulkhead. I struck hard and bounced on my face across Hef’s shag carpet.

  “Please! Don’t kill him!” Clancy wailed.

  The caliph chuckled as the second guard hauled me up again by the back of the collar. “Not immediately, at least! First a little humility-inducing softening for the snot-nosed American…then we shall talk about death.”

  Clancy screamed as I bounced off the ceiling (I really thought I was going through it for a second—a bad thing for all of us) then bounced off Hef’s wonderful round bed, then into his liquor cabinet and back to the shag again.

  I rolled to a stop at the caliph’s feet. “Most impressive, Mr. Magee. You’re hardly bleeding! And these are the two best strong-arms in Baghdad!”

  “I’ve been working out,” I gasped, upside down. “Chin-ups.”

  Mansur laughed. “I think I’m actually going to miss that Yankee brevity, Mr. Magee! Pity you won’t be joining our little enclave in Iraq to spread the vampire cause!”

  Thor—I think it was Parvis—hauled me up and smashed me into the bathroom sink, breaking two of my front teeth and loosening a molar.

  I lay against the base of the toilet panting a little. “It is a pity,” I told Mansur, “I’ll miss enjoying the expression on your face when Kolcheck drives a stake through your back.”

  The caliph stopped smiling, showed his fangs.

  I pushed up from the toilet, faced him. “You didn’t really think our friend Ivan is capable of honoring an agreement, did you? Oh, you naïve middle-easterners. Ivan features himself the Prince of Vampires. And there’s only room for one of those.”

  Parvis—or was it Belum—walked over and yanked me up, but the caliph—eyes curious--held up his hand. “One moment!”

  Parvis set me lightly on my feet.

  “You have some proof of this idiotic claim I trust, Mr. Magee?”

  I dusted my pants. “Yeah, I’ve got proof, fat boy. Ivan’s an American. More than that he’s a Chicagoan. Styles his strategies and operations on legends like Johnny Torrio, Dion O’Bannion, Al Capone. Ever hear of those guys?”

  “1930’s hoodlums, Mr. Magee.”

  “But they ran the country. The whole country. By taking one territory at a time. And they didn’t invite ‘partners’ into their plans.”

  The caliph scoffed. “Ivan Kolcheck was tutored by Alicia, the so-called Queen of Vampires! A woman!”

  I nodded. “Alicia turned him. Mentored him. But within six months he split from her small town strategy of daylight world dominance to form his own coven…and control the biggest city in the Midwest. Do you really think New York and L.A. are far behind? They’re all the same city—the same underground. How long do you imagine before he’s got Washington in his back pocket? A Washington is, of course, the military. How long, mighty caliph, before you wake up one fine Iraqi night with a U.S. carrier–launched drone up your considerable derriere? Where you gonna hide in the daylight then, Mansur? A hole in the ground like your buddies Hussein and Kaddafi? Didn’t work out too well for them.”

  “You’re bluffing, Mr. Magee, trying to buy both time and your life.”

  I straightened my shirt, smoothed my jacket cuffs. “Maybe. But I’m not the one going home to two hundred acres of re-routed oil wells and am empty Swiss bank account, am I?”

  The caliph smiled. “Oh, dear. And what am I supposed to do, join your lame little anti-vampire crusade? A bit late for that.” He shook his fat head. “The world belongs to the vampire now, Mr. Magee. In the end, it matters little who actually leads. I foresee infighting, of course, as in any military campaign. But the vampire does not as a rule kill his own kith and ken. Our breed hasn’t survived for millennia by being cannibalistic.”

  “No,” I shrugged, “it’s hasn’t, in fact, survived very well at all. I’d say less than one per cent of the world’s population even believes you’re real.”

  A Cheshire smile. “Our greatest alley—ignorance. Which is why, in the end, we shall win. Slowly and with careful deliberation, but we shall win.”

  “I doubt it. Even in the worst global plagues there were always a handful of immune survivors. Clancy here, for instance. Can’t kill her in any conventional way, can’t turn her into a vampire either. There are bound to be others like her out there.”

  The caliph’s eyes lit. “To be certain! We intend to insure it! By breeding her!”

  A cold stone formed in my gut.

  Mansur chuckled. “Did you really think I went to all the time and trouble—and money—of acquiring our lovely Ms. Clancy merely to add one more exceptional piece of pulchritude to my over-crowded harem? Mr. Magee, you disappoint me.”

  I grabbed a Kleenex from Hef’s nightstand and dabbed at my bloody lip. “You’ll have to get her to Iraq first, your majesty...”

  “And what, pray tell, is to prevent me from that?”

  I sighed. “Nothing, I suppose, beyond the fact that I reset the INS to land at England’s Heathrow. With an entourage of police, of course.”

  The smug panache seemed to drain like liquid from the caliph’s face. He craned back momentarily at the open cockpit door down the long aisle. Then he nodded at his henchmen.

  “Kill this idiot. I’ll check the controls.”

  I stepped smiling in front of the bedroom doorway. “Afraid I can’t allow that.”

  Mansur rolled his eyes impatiently. “You’re wasting our time, Mr. Magee. Your death can be either quick or lingering, the choice is yours…”

  “Mitzi? Clancy? Are you receiving?”

  “Receiving,” they answered in unison within my head.

  “Get to the cockpit. You know what to do.”

  Mitzi bolted for the aisle first.

  Belum caught her in his coconut arms in midflight, lifted her high to smash her against the overhead.

  I stepped inside and threw everything I had into a right cross to the goon’s solar plexus.

  He doubled up like a crushed bag pipe, everything in his lungs belching from his wide-stretched mouth with the worst dried blood halitosis imaginable. Mitzi dropped like a stone into my arms, leap out instantly and shot down the center aisle.

  Belum just stood there on rubbery legs gaping at me. I don’t think he’d ever known pain before.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” I grinned.

  I don’t know who was more amazed, Belum and Mansur at the punch, or Clancy at my perfect set of new teeth, which had grown in nicely.

  I turned my pretty smile on Parvis as he came powering in and kicked him smoothly in the balls.

  Parvis did the bag pipe thing and bounced off Belum.

  Mansur threw his arm about my neck and Clancy high-tailed it after the poodle.

  “Get the girl!” the caliph screamed.

  But his two henchmen seemed slow to jump to orders for probably the first time in their lives.

  Mansur screamed an Arabic curse in my ear and I grabbed his arm with both hands and tried to leverage free; but it was like wrestling a python.

  I was about to wonder what the caliph needed a henchmen for when Parvis, mostly recovered and breathing hellfire, came growling at me with clawed hands. I caught my right foot under Mansur’s left ankle, whipped him about and flung him into the big goon’s waiting arms. The power behind the throw surprised even me, propelling master and slave across the bedroom and smashing into a port side window. It splintered into a heart-stopping spider web but, thankfully, didn’t crack open and blow outward. I made a quick mental not to throw things at window after that.

&n
bsp; Now Belum was up again and at my back.

  One enormous hand closed over my windpipe, the other sought my groin and with a grunt of pain I felt myself being lifted over the big Iraqi’s head. Laughing deep in his broad chest, he turned a half circle and prepared to toss me into the bathroom.

  I let him.

  And took him with me.

  As he flung me from his arms I grabbed the back of his neck and dragged me along with the inertia, finally landing neatly on both feet and slinging the shocked goon into Hef’s shower.

  The shower door exploded inward in a musical crescendo of glass and Belum left the major part of his imprint in a silhouette of broken interior tile. I could swear the entire tail section of the aircraft swayed a moment as in a strong wind.

  Belum slid down the ruined wall like a deflated toad, one ankle catching and turning the left spigot handle in his descent. Even the shock of cold water spraying his face didn’t bring him around for several seconds. And, truthfully, I was getting nowhere.

  I needed to bring the struggle out of the bedroom and into the main cabin and I needed to do it quick; The Count’s temporary strength-injection was under full attack from my own immune system, those helper T cell antibodies were digging in for all they worth, knocking out the invaded vampire virus—and the power that went with it. I could feel my newfound strength leaching slowly through my pores. In a few minutes I’d be just another helpless human…

  It was just about that time the caliph managed to get another of his wonderful death grips around my neck, hold me fast with both his legs spread apart, and Parvis began using me as a punching bag.

  Again, I let him.

  It hurt, don’t get me wrong, and there was quickly more blood and bruising. But I needed to get my breath and marshal whatever resources were left to me. In short, I need my companions there with me, Mitzi at the caliph’s legs and Clancy punching Parvis’ big muscled face. But they weren’t available. Which was just fine.

  Where I really needed them was in the cockpit.

  I let Parvis keep up the jabbing punches until things began to get dark and little spots lit up the bedroom before my eyes…then I ducked under his next swing and let him smash the caliph’s nose flat.

  “Fucking imbecile!” Mansur bellowed. I was pretty sure he was talking to Parvis.

  His arms left my neck and he pitched backward into the big round bed, bounced and flopped to the decking. At the same instant a blood-streaming Belum came roaring from the bathroom, clothing soaked, hair plastered across his forehead, leaping at me like a crazed spider.

  I threw Parvis in his path and vaulted out of the bedroom into the main cabin.

  Mansur caught my ankle just past the first row of aft seats and slammed me on the narrow carpet.

  I felt that elevator sensation in my chest through the deck plates and felt my heart soar with hope.

  I kicked Mansur in the face, struggled up and began racing up the aisle toward the cockpit…

  …and then I was sliding back down it again as the big plane lifted, nosing upward.

  I collided with Mansur again, who began raking at my clothes with long talon claws and snapping like an animal with extended incisors. They sunk into my thigh and I wailed pain and scrabbled on hands and knees up the sharply rising aisle, which was beginning to feel like a sliding board.

  I got myself rolled half over somehow and slammed my foot in the caliph’s face; his fangs broke off like toothpicks in my thigh—stuck there like two tiny tombstones--and he slid helplessly down the aisle into his scrambling goons. I plucked free the broken fangs—but I knew just how quickly they’d grow back again.

  The floor strained steeper and I grabbed the base of an aisle chair and hung on for life.

  I craned back over my shoulder and felt my heart stop.

  Even as his henchmen tumbled backward toward the bedroom again, a smiling, broken-toothed Mansur rose magically off the aisle to float effortlessly in midair above the rows of tilting cabin seats.

  It was the same levitation trick Ivan and Alicia had used in their rooftop battle against each other, but whether the caliph had learned it from them, or it was simply an eons-old power among vampires I had neither the strength or presence of mind left to ponder. Inch by inch my numbed fingers were losing their purchase on the metal seat housing and I’d soon be flailing backward with the goons if the laughing caliph didn’t reach me first.

  His laugher rose manically, drew nearer and in the next moment was right against my ear, along with his hissing breath. “A noble effort, American! Time to die now!”

  I felt the tip of his newly formed fangs against my jugular--just as the bright shaft of warmth and light spread over both of us.

  The caliph’s laughter morphed into a panicked, gut-wrenching shriek.

  I hung to the chair by my nails and watched him try to claw wild-eyed toward the protection of the still-shadowed ceiling. But the plane was nosing down again, righting itself as the tail section broke free of the last tendrils of cloud bank and all the starboard windows streamed bright with sunlight.

  The caliph seemed to hang there another moment like a glowing Christmas ornament—then he burst into flame, still screaming.

  Parvis and Belum made a desperate, last ditch effort to reclaim the shadowed interior of the bedroom before their flailing bodies ignited too: pop-pop like two muffled firecrackers.

  And then I was alone in the main cabin, swathed in buttery sunlight lancing from the row of windows, and whispering a sweet, mental thank-you to my comrades in the cockpit.

  TWENTY-SIX

  I pulled myself up by the arm of the chair and stood there a moment on legs made of Jello.

  The bare skin of my face and hands held a vague stinging sensation under the warm sunlight that quickly became a not-unpleasant tingling as the last of The Count’s vampire attributes evaporated under the ultra-violet rays from the windows and left me.

  I was me again; just Ed Magee from Topeka, Kansas, all my supernatural powers cleansed. I can’t possibly tell you how much I missed them.

  Not that I wanted any part of being a vampire…but it was fun to be Superman for a while.

  I regained my sea legs and stumbled up the aisle to the cockpit in a wash of sudden relief. The adventure was over. I had the sudden overpowering feeling I could sleep for days.

  If we ever got the plane landed again, of course.

  Not surprisingly I found Clancy behind the yoke of the pilot’s chair, both hands gripping the controls confidently. Mitzi sat in the copilot seat next to her, wagging her tail as I came through the cabin door. She wore her leash, the other end of which was tied securely to the base of the chair.

  “How’d we do, Sport?”

  I smiled exhaustion. It was all I could do not to hug her at that moment, but I knew Mitzi wouldn’t go for it. “You did great, guys! Above and beyond the call of duty!” And I bent down and kissed Clancy hard on the cheek. A little surprised she didn’t turn to kiss me back, but then it was a six-ton aircraft she was trying to fly with only the telepathic assistance of a novice poodle.

  Maybe she didn’t kiss back but her hair smelled terrific. “You were wonderful,” I nuzzled her ear.

  Clancy glanced up at me. “All our Iraqi friends are taken care of then?’

  “Summarily vaporized,” I grinned. “You two handled this bird like experienced pros.” And I now had to wink and give Mitzi her due. “Good co-piloting, pooch! I guess it’s a good thing Alicia allowed you to take accompany her on those private flights!”

  The dog shrugged. “Actually, Clancy did most of the work herself. She won’t admit it, but I’d swear she’s got some hours behind a stick.” And the poodle gave me just the briefest, lingering look.

  I turned to Clancy, patted her arm. “Is it true, honey? Have you had clocked some private hours of your own somewhere?”

  Clancy stared straight ahead at the now pinking sky. “A few,” she dead-panned, then nodded at the co-pilot seat. “Why don’t you
have a chair?”

  I put my hand to my heart. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of crowding our illustrious co-pilot from her seat of honor!”

  Eyes still on the clouds ahead, Clancy pulled a pistol from her open purse and pointed it at my belly. “Why don’t you do it anyway, Ed. Dear.”

  I stared blankly at her. “What the hell?”

  She waved the gun stiffly. “In the co-pilot seat, please. Now!”

  It was like a bad dream.

  I even had trouble finding my voice again. “Clancy, what on earth are you doing?”

  “Exactly what she’s been told to do,” Ivan said from the cabin door behind me.

  Mitzi and I whirled around at the same instant. Clancy stared calmly at the clouds.

  The Prince of Vampires wore the old familiar smile. Or was it even more smugly superior than ever? He looked wholly relaxed there leaning against the frame of the cabin door, hands in his Armani pockets, hair neatly combed, smelling vaguely of cologne: almost jaunty.

  “So glad you could join us, Edward. Can I offer you something from Hefner’s bar before you die?”

  Nothing was making any sense. I’d seen every riser inside the caliph’s secret sleeping compartment—his and the two guards—there was no room for Kolcheck.

  “Don’t lose your head again, Mr. Magee!” And he chuckled that awful chuckle.

  Lose my head…

  Then I remembered ‘losing’ it once before. In a vision.

  The Prince grinned from the doorway. “I can make you see anything I want you to, remember?” And he lifted a pale hand and drew a small bat out of thin air. “…or anything I don’t want you to!”

  The bat flitted across the cabin straight for Mitzi. The poodle came unglued, barking and snapping viciously at the air on her hind legs. But it was only air she snapped at. In the next moment the thrashing leather wings dissolved into nothing. Mitzi sat there blinking. “Where’d the damn thing go?”

  “It was never here,” I told her, eyes still watching Kolcheck tensely, “but our friend Ivan here has been around during the whole trip! Am I right?”