SEVENTEEN
xxx
THE DUST AND THE DARKNESS
The church shook violently. Windows shattered, shards of glass flew, boards blew away. Syd gasped as an immense wave of dust billowed out from between the decayed church doors. It washed over her, Wing, and Eightball where they had collapsed on the ground. She slapped her hands over the boy’s and dog’s mouths, throwing her body over them as she held her breath. When the maelstrom finally died down she looked up, coughing and hacking as she gazed back at the church. The dust settled, leaving the trio blanketed in a fine powder, the gap between the doors a pitch-black ravine through a world of gray. There was no movement within.
“Max?” she said, horrified at the thought of what might have happened to him. She called out again, louder this time, struggling to her feet. By the starlight she could see that the bell tower was gone, a mushroom cloud rising out of the church roof where it had stood only minutes earlier. The din that had accompanied the explosion had been deafening. Somewhere within that terrible noise she had heard the toll of the bell, clanging as it crashed to the earth, followed quickly by the tower itself. Her friend was in there.
“Oh, Max,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Tears streaked her cheeks, cutting through the layers of dirt. “You stupid, stupid dumbass!”
“Not quite the heartfelt eulogy I’d hoped for.”
Syd turned. Max stood close by, beneath the trembling boughs of a battered tree. He teetered, covered in dust, a clawed gargoyle hand still hanging from the lapel of his bomber jacket. He tore it off and tossed it into the bushes behind him, brushing himself down. She stepped up to him, shaking her head.
“Well,” said Max. “I thought that went quite well, all things considered.”
Syd punched him in the arm. Hard.
“What the . . . ? Where’s the tearful embrace, lady?”
“I thought you were dead, numbnuts. How did you get out of there?”
He hooked a thumb and gestured over his shoulder. “Through a window. Not exactly by design. When the bell came down I was kinda thrown through the air. I was going through either a window or a wall. Turns out it was the former—yay me!”
“And the gargoyle?”
“He’s kitty litter.” Max crouched by Wing and checked him over.
“He’s unconscious,” said Syd. “They roughed him up, without a doubt.”
Max moved across to Eightball, half-expecting the rotund pup to growl at him. The bulbous eyes swiveled in his fat little face, fixing on Max mournfully. Regardless of the mood the hellhound had been in earlier, Max couldn’t help but reach out and stroke him. Eightball whimpered.
“Monsters,” said Syd angrily.
Max shook his head. “There are plenty of monsters out there who are kind souls. Good monsters. The guy who took a dive from the tower and his gargoyle buddy—they were wicked, plain and simple. Speaking of which, what was left of him? That must have been messy.”
“Nothing left of him.”
“What? He was eviscerated?”
“No,” said Syd, casting her hand around them. “He’s simply not here. He must’ve gotten up and walked away.”
Max smiled as he picked up Wing, the boy murmuring in his arms. “That’s good news.”
“Good news? I’d hate to see your bad.”
“Monsters I get. It’s humans, the norms, that pickle my brain. Now we know he’s monstrous in some way, and unless he has some kind of accelerated healing ability, he’s going to be a mess. We should look around. He can’t have gone far.”
“If he’s here, I haven’t seen him. I reckon he’s long gone.”
“We’d better get Wing home. If he was my kid I’d have called the cops by now. Not to mention that we’ve just played our part in demolishing one of Gallows Hill’s oldest buildings. We’d better get a move on before Chief Boyle and the boys in blue turn up. I’ll call Jed.”
He shoved a hand into his pocket and fished out his phone, punching Jed’s number on speed dial.
“Where is he, anyway?” asked Syd. “No disrespect to the old dude, but I thought he was your backup?”
“He is,” said Max as they walked toward the picket fence that circuited the church grounds. “He’s never let me down yet.”
“Hush,” said Syd, squinting into the gloom. She grinned. “I can hear his cell. He must be here already. Jed!” she called, picking up the pace.
“See,” said the boy, letting it ring, the shrill tone leading them to him. “I told you he wouldn’t let us down. The guy’s a pro.”
Max’s smile slipped as they approached the spot where Jed’s cell was ringing. The old man’s station wagon was parked on the street, but there was no sign of him. The driver’s side door was open. There was Jed’s flat cap, the hat he never left home without, lying in a puddle. Inside the hat was his phone. The display glowed blue, Max’s name showing up as the caller.
“The back door,” said Max, his voice serious now as he directed Syd to the rear of the car. She opened it and stood aside as Max gently laid Wing out on the backseat. He quickly returned to the cap and cell. Eightball let out a low growl. Max patted the dog’s head.
“I know, buddy. This is all wrong.”
Max hit “end” on his phone and Jed’s cell blinked off. He picked it up, tossing it into the driver’s open door, then lifted the hat from the puddle. He turned on his flashlight, inspecting the cap’s sodden black felt. Fishing inside with his fingers, he pulled out a fold of paper. Max winced.
“What is it?” asked Syd.
“Blood. On the inside. He had his skull cracked. How hard’s impossible to tell.” Max unfolded the paper, its edges blotted with blood and rain. He held up the flashlight, reading the scrawled handwriting. It was a flowing, archaic script, punctuated by spots and splatters of pooled red ink. Max grimaced as he realized it wasn’t ink after all. Syd craned in as the two read the bloody script:
If you wish to see your friend alive, Van Helsing, return to Gallows Hill Burying Ground at sunset tomorrow. Alone. UV.
“What does UV stand for?” asked Syd. “Ultraviolet? Has this got something to do with vampires, Max?” She shivered, glancing over her shoulder as if a sucker might appear there upon mention of its name. It was well known among monster hunters that ultraviolet light was as effective against vampires as daylight.
Max shrugged, sweat prickling across his cold, clammy flesh. “I don’t know.”
Those three words made Max feel sick. He hated being in the dark about anything, and always prided himself on having enough smarts and common sense to give him the edge over the enemy. At this point in time he was decidedly edgeless—blunt, in a word—and his mentor was missing. No, missing made it sound like he might pop up at any moment. Jed had been kidnapped.
“Eightball,” he said, crouching before the puppy. “You ready for round two yet? Think you can find Jed?”
The pooch tucked his stumpy tail between his legs and lowered his head with a whimper. He’d taken a beating this night. Heck, Max doubted the poor little guy would ever track something down again, let alone charge into a fight. He gave him a comforting pat on the head.
“So, what?” asked Syd. “You’re supposed to come back here tomorrow night and hand yourself over? In exchange for Jed?”
“That seems to be the gist of it.”
She gulped. “And? Will you?”
Max considered. He’d never been in a fix like this before. For the first time ever, Max felt truly alone. Sure, he had Syd still, but his friend was only partially aware of the horrors that were out there. He pushed the fear into the pit of his belly, allowing the words of the ransom note to rattle back through his head. Ever so slowly, with each nervous heartbeat, his cockiness was returning.
“Oh, I intend to be here tomorrow night, for sure, but I won’t make things easy for our uniformed friend.
” He clapped Syd on the shoulder and smiled. “The way I see it, I have until dusk tomorrow to prepare for this. I’d hate to waste a minute of that time.”
Max strolled around the car and flipped the trunk open, rummaging around within. He hefted a jelly jar of colorful glass marbles from the clutter, rattling them just once before depositing them into his satchel.
“What do you mean, you’d hate to waste a minute?” asked Syd, watching her friend as he went through the trunk’s contents like a man possessed. “We’ve got no leads, nothing to go on.”
“Nonsense,” said Max, shoving more gear into his messenger bag. “We have all the information we need right here!” He waved the bloodied paper in the air.
“We do?”
“Of course. It’s me he’s after—his speech in the church confirmed it. And we know that Jed’s still alive—so the note says.”
“It could be a lie.”
“You’re right, it could. But for now, I’m going to trust the insane gargoyle wrangler on that one. Call me crazy.”
Syd managed a lopsided smile.
“Last of all,” he said, picking up Syd’s BMX and placing it in the station wagon’s spacious trunk, “this church and the burying ground—they’re important to our enemy. They mean something to him.”
“Like what?”
“That’s your job to find out,” Max replied, slamming the trunk shut.
“My job?”
“Yep. Head back to Helsing House. Get Wing back into Mrs. Liu’s arms; I’m sure you’ll be able to think of some cockamamie tale to explain what happened to him.”
Max handed her a key from the chain on his hip.
“Get some sleep and then get into Jed’s library. Find out everything you can about All Saints, Fallen Saints, whatever you want to call it. Check Wing, see if there’s anything he can tell us that might help when he comes to. And keep Eightball by your side. As bouncing balls of blubber go, he kinda suits you.”
He reached into the open driver’s side door and flipped the sun visor, a spare ignition key dropping out into his hand. Max handed it to Syd. She looked shocked.
“Oh, please,” he said, grinning. “Like you don’t know how to drive this thing. Now get out of here before the cops arrive.”
They both looked at the church and the dust cloud that still hung around it. Right on cue, sirens sounded in the distance. Lights had come on in the neighborhood, voices now audible as inquisitive residents came out to investigate. Syd hopped into the car and deftly slipped the key into the ignition. It fired up instantly and the girl smiled. Sure, she didn’t have a license and was too young to drive, but when had that ever stopped her? She closed the door and wound down the window.
“And where are you going?” she asked Max.
Max straddled his Chopper and threw the cowl of his hoodie over his head. “Downtown, for some answers of my own.”
EIGHTEEN
xxx
THE PAWNBROKER
Max hid in the shadows of the bus shelter, eyes fixed on the pawnshop across the street. The neon sign flickered above the door, the words BUY and SELL stacked on top of one another. The B, U, and S blinked out intermittently, leaving a garish pink YELL illuminating the crumbling storefront. Metal shutters had been rolled down over the windows and door, each one decorated with great swathes of graffiti. Much of it was in English, mostly scatological and anatomical in nature, but there were other words in incomprehensible script. Norms would have dismissed them as ordinary graffiti artist tags. Max, though, recognized them well enough. These symbols and ciphers didn’t come from the human world.
Of course, he had no intention of entering via the storefront. That would be too obvious, and he couldn’t risk getting spotted by any local “characters.” This dilapidated downtown district was the wrong side of the tracks by anyone’s standards. Max checked his phone’s display: twelve thirty. Still deep within the witching hour. Content that the street was deserted, he stamped down on the Chopper pedal, launching the bicycle over the sidewalk. He hit the cobbled road, wheels rattling before he hopped the curb across the way, disappearing down the alley beside the shop. Parking the bicycle, he slipped up to the wooden side door.
Ignoring the doorbell, Max reached into the bottom of his messenger bag, rummaging around until he found what he needed. He withdrew a battered coin, lifting it to check he had the right one: a silver serpent. The snake’s body coiled around itself, tail disappearing down its own hungry throat. This was currency from the Undercity, almost impossible to come by in norm society. The coins ranged from the exceedingly valuable platinum phoenix all the way down to the common copper corpse. The latter was next to worthless downstairs, but would take the breath away from any human coin collector. Max took the serpent and turned it on its side before tapping it three times against a knothole in the door. Slowly, the silver coin disappeared into the timber, drawn through the wood, before vanishing from his fingertips. Max nodded, pleased with himself. He’d only ever visited the shop after business hours with Jed, and had witnessed the old man do the exact same thing. This was a sign to the pawnbroker. It informed him he was being paid a visit by very special clientele.
Max heard noises within, approaching the door. He looked around, eager to get off the street and out of sight. Shadows moved across the cobbles at the end of the alley as a number of figures approached. Their shadows grew longer, broader, more defined as they neared the passage’s dark entrance. It could have been innocuous, revelers returning home after a night out on the town, but Max doubted it. This was basically downtown Monsterville, USA, and to be a human out on the streets at this hour was a decidedly risky—nay, crazy—business. Especially when every monster you met wanted to take a bite out of you.
“C’mon,” he whispered, stepping into the doorframe until his chest was flush to the timber. Bolts shifted and locks were lifted. Max looked back up the passageway. Voices now, deep ones, muttering and guttural. Definitely not a troop of Boy Scouts. As the first figure appeared at the head of the alley, the door suddenly opened inward, sending Max sprawling into the arms of the pawnbroker.
They both landed on the floor, the boy on top of the man, nose to nose. The pawnbroker had a face even a mother would struggle to love, great warts and pockmarks scarring his skin. To anyone else it might have been an intimidating, scary visage, but not to Max. This was Odious Crumb, an occasional friend of the family. An occasional friend of the family who now threw his rough hands around Max’s throat and began throttling him. The teenager managed to get one hand up, hooking a thumb into the gap before Crumb’s fingers could reach each other. Then he kicked the door shut behind him. Whoever those strangers were outside, he didn’t need them walking in on the ruckus. One fight at a time.
“Crumb!” he gurgled. “It’s me! Max Helsing!”
The man’s wild, bulging eyes were focused on Max’s forehead. Foam frothed on his leathery lips, his jaundiced skin rippling as he strained his stubby, strangling digits. There was no recognition, no acknowledgment from Crumb that he’d ever met Max before. Max pulled his hand free and wedged his own fingers around the man’s neck.
As necks went, Crumb’s was almost nonexistent, but there was enough loose flesh for Max to seize hold of. He gripped hard as his own airway closed. The monster hunter lifted Crumb’s head before sending him back to the ground, giving him a short, sharp crack on the back of his skull against the concrete. The man’s hands slackened instantly. The teenager scrambled off the dazed pawnbroker, snatching up the first potential weapon that came to hand. It was an umbrella that hung from a coatrack, but that didn’t bother Max. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used a bumbershoot to save his skin. He struck a fencing pose and readied himself.
“Well?” said Max. “Are we going again, or do you quit? Please tell me we don’t have a problem, Mr. Crumb . . .”
The man blinked and wiped his eyes, rubbing
the back of his head.
“Are we good?” asked Max, his voice low so as not to draw the attention of anyone outside.
“Blimey, Maxwell Helsing, as I live and breathe,” said Crumb at last, his cockney accent thick but comprehensible. “What kinda devil’s gotten into you there, going for a defenseless geezer like that?”
“Me going for you?” Max relaxed a little. “It was you who went for me! Do you strangle all your customers?”
“Give over! I got the bruise on the back of me noggin to show for your scrapping.”
Max yanked the hood of his sweatshirt aside, revealing his throat. “The finger marks on my flesh tell a different tale.”
“Hell’s bells,” said Crumb, struggling to his feet to examine the red welts. He looked at his palms as if they belonged to a stranger. “I swear, little fella, I dunno what came over me. I thought it were you that took a pop at me! That were self-defense, weren’t it?”
Max shook his head, hung the umbrella back up on the wall, and slid the dead bolts and safety bar back across the door. “Sorry about the concussion, Mr. Crumb,” he said. “It was either that or die, and after the day I’ve had I’m determined to go down fighting.”
The man gestured for Max to move further into the shop, his eyes on the door and the shuttered windows. “This way, little fella. Let’s go where we can talk. Walls have ears ’round here.”
Max smiled as he followed Crumb. “Little fella” was hardly appropriate any longer—he was already a couple of inches taller than this oddball of a man. The pawnbroker reminded Max of Mr. Toad from The Wind in the Willows, with his hunched back, stump neck, greenish pallor, and bulging eyes. If he’d flicked his tongue out and caught a bluebottle, it wouldn’t have surprised Max one bit.
As a pawnbroker, Odious Crumb bought and sold anything, as far as Max could tell. The shop was an Aladdin’s cave of oddities, every corner, wall, and rafter loaded with clutter. If it was worth something to someone, it was worth something to Crumb. The man thrived on others’ misfortunes, picking out valuables and heirlooms when people were at their lowest points before selling them back at inflated prices. The man might appear to be down on his luck, but he’d made a fortune off the luckless of Gallows Hill, both human and monster. The rumor that he was a fence for stolen goods had never gone away either. Ultimately, Crumb always looked out for number one. He may have been a friend of the family, but Jed didn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him.
The Thirteenth Curse Page 11