by Ryk E. Spoor
"Do you really want one?"
She was silent for a minute. Then, "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Because there's one other thing that I haven't told you yet."
I waited.
After a few moments, she said, "All right, here it is. This body is not the first we've found in this condition. The others all had wounds that could explain the loss . . . but the ME told me privately that there were certain indications that made him think that they were inflicted after death."
"Okay, Lieutenant, but you are not going to like it."
"I don't like it now, Wood. Let me have it."
"Sylvie thinks we are dealing with a vampire."
There was a long silence. "Would you repeat that?"
"A vampire. As in Dracula."
Another silence. "Yeah. And damned if I don't half believe it, either. I must be getting gullible. But no way can I take this to my supervisor. He's the most closed-minded son of a bitch who ever wore blue."
I laughed. "I don't expect you to do anything about it. Just keep an eye out. I'm going to start some research of my own. If we are dealing with something paranormal, I doubt that normal approaches will work."
"God, listen to me. A cop dealing with vampires? I'll call you later, Jason. This is too weird for me to handle right now."
I cradled the receiver. I couldn't blame her for needing time to sort it all out. Hell, I was stunned that she accepted it as much as she did. Somewhere in the back of her mind she must already have decided that something was very wrong about those other deaths.
I went upstairs into my library, started pulling down books: Dracula, 'Salem's Lot, The Vampire Lestat, The Saint-Germain Chronicles, and various folklore reference works I'd picked up over the years; I like checking the accuracy of legendary "facts" used in my favorite books. I reconsidered and put back The Vampire Tapestry; a vampire that was little more than a human with an indefinitely long lifespan wouldn't be a big problem; one bullet would stop him.
I sat down at my workstation, started keying in information from each book. I hesitated at first at including fictional information; I mean, what good will someone else's imagination do me? But then I thought of two important points. First, the prevalence of the vampire legend. In some form, it is found around the entire globe; there are vampire myths in Europe, South America, China, and in almost every other major culture past and present. I couldn't discount some kind of Jungian "collective unconscious" that these writers tapped into. Second, and more important, was the possibility that one of these writers was writing from experience.
After three hours, my neck and arms started getting really cramped. I broke for a late lunch, headed back towards the computer just as the phone rang.
"Wood's Information Ser—"
"Hello, Wood."
I knew that gravel-scraping voice, even though it usually didn't call before the night shift. "Hi, Elias. I've got your photos done."
"Anything good?"
"Let's just say that I'll be real surprised if we aren't electing a new Assemblyman soon."
He laughed, a quick explosive chortle. "With an attitude like that, I don't see you getting on jury duty, that's for sure. Listen, I'll be over to pick 'em up soon. 'Bout an hour and a half good?"
"Sure thing, Elias."
I needed a little break from bloodsucking freaks anyway. I pulled the envelope from the safe, rechecking the pictures on disk against the negatives. By the time my recheck was done, dusk and Elias were here. "Hey there, Jase," he said, ducking slightly as he entered. He really didn't have to—the doorway's seven feet high and he's six foot six—but it was a habit he had. Add a gangly frame, a sharp-edged nose, black hair, black eyes, and a slight stoop; Elias Klein always reminded me of a youthful buzzard. He came into my office to get a quick look. He liked them all, until we got to the last one.
"Nice joke, Jason."
"What do you mean, joke? It looks pretty good to me."
"Oh, sure, Assemblyman Connors looks just lovely. But without Verne Domingo to complete the picture it's nothing but a publicity shot."
I pointed to the next to last. "What about that one? They're swapping right there, what more could you ask for?"
"That's just a second-string doper, Jason! Domingo's the big man, and that is the photo that should show him."
I shrugged. "Too bad. Next time make sure he's in the picture."
"Don't give me that, Wood! I know he was in that shot, I was the one looking through the viewfinder."
I handed him the negative. "Look for yourself."
He stared at it. "What the hell?" Then he swung towards me. "Wood, you'd better not be dicking around with the evidence! I've been on this for eight fucking months, and if you're—"
"Oh, cut the tough cop act, Elias. Kojak you ain't. You know damn well that I only play jokes, I don't really mess with my clients' stuff. If I did, would the city PD be paying me ten grand a year? That negative is the one you gave me and it's in the same shape as it was when it got here."
"But that's impossible." Elias glared at the negative as though a hard stare would make the missing figure materialize. "If you look through the viewfinder of an SLR, what you see is what you get. Besides, dammit, look at your own enhancement. He's got his mouth half open, saying something, and he's about to shake hands. Then look at that angle. Do you put your hand out twenty feet from the guy you're going to shake with?"
"Nope." I was mystified now. Then a quote spun across my mind: "This time there could be no error, for the man was close to me, and I could see him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in my mirror!"
I took the negative and stared at it again. "You're right, Elias. Mr. Domingo should have been in this picture. That leaves only one explanation."
He looked at me. "And that is . . . ?"
"That you are dealing with someone whose image doesn't appear on films."
Elias didn't like that at all, but he had to admit that I had no motive to screw around with the negatives. "So what are you suggesting? He has some kind of Star Trek cloaking device that wipes his image off film? I won't swallow it."
"Trust me, Elias, you don't want to know what I think. Since this negative is worthless as is, mind if I keep it? Maybe there's some kind of latent image I could bring up."
"Dammit, Jason! Tell me what is—" He broke off, having caught sight of the pile of books and papers on the desk.
He looked at them. He picked them up, examined them. Looked at me. "And Reisman said . . ." he began, then stopped. He glanced at the negative again. Back at me. A long pause. "You're right." he said finally. "I don't want to know. Keep the negative." He grabbed his hat and sunglasses, left quickly.
I went back to typing.
The phone rang again.
"Hello, Jason," said Sylvie. "What have you heard?"
"Enough. I apologize for doubting you, Sylvie. We've either got ourselves a real honest-to-God vampire here, or someone who is doing his level best to fake it. And with the technical problems of faking some of this, I'd rather believe in a vampire than in a faker." I glanced down. "And I think I've found our bloodsucker, too." I gave her a quick rundown on Klein's negative.
"But, Jason, isn't that an incredible coincidence?"
"I thought so myself, at first. But I've been thinking, and it isn't as far out as it first seems. In most legit businesses you have to do business in daylight hours at some point. Maybe a vampire can live in a musty coffin underground all the time, but I'll bet they sure don't want to. They want all the creature comforts they can enjoy and that means money. So they'll just naturally gravitate to the 'shady' side of commerce, pardon the pun. And with their natural advantages, it isn't surprising at all that one might be high up on the ladder."
"I hadn't thought of it that way. But drug deals happen in the day, too."
"But if you've got muscle to back you up you can get away with a lot of odd quirks. Avoiding sunlight might be possible."
"True. And, by the way, apology accepted. I'
ve been calling around and getting my better occult acquaintances on the alert. They'll see what they can find."
"Good." Privately, I didn't expect much from Sylvie's pals. Sylvie herself might have something, but most of the people who visited the Silver Stake were your typical muddled New-Age escapists who confused Tolkien and Shirley MacLaine with real life. "I'm working on something here that might help. Stop by after you're done, okay?"
"Sure thing, Jason. Just promise me no more bodies, huh?"
"I make no guarantees. Bodies never consult me before arriving. See you."
"Bye."
It was eight-ten by the time I finished. Then I put WISDOM to work. Wood's Information Service Database Online Manager can analyze information using many different methods. WISDOM was instructed to examine the information on all different kinds of vampires to construct the most likely abilities that an actual vampire might be expected to possess. It took WISDOM only a few minutes to do its calculations. I sat down and read. It was grim reading.
3
"What in the world are you doing?" Sylvie asked.
I put down the loading kit. "Preparing. I figure that if I'm going to deal with a vampire, I'd better have something other than conventional ammo."
She picked up a cartridge. "Silver? I thought I read somewhere that you actually couldn't make silver bullets; something about balance?"
"I heard that too, but it's a silly statement on the face of it. Lead's softer and just as heavy, and they've been making bullets from lead as long as they've been making guns." I checked the fit of another bullet. "Not that I expect those to be of much use. WISDOM only gave a twenty-five-percent chance of a vulnerability to silver. That seems more of a werewolf thing."
She examined the other kinds of ammo. "Well, I'll say this for you, you have one heck of an assortment." She reached into her purse, pulled out a small wooden box. "Here, Jason."
"What's this?" I opened the box. On a slender silver chain was a crystal-headed hammer, handle wrapped in miniature leather thongs, the head an angle-faced box. "It's gorgeous, Syl! Thank you!"
"I remembered how much you like the Norse pantheon—you even named your car after Thor's hammer—and if you look real closely on the hammer head, you'll see Mjolnir engraved there in Nordic runes."
I squinted closely at it, and I could just make out the spiderweb-thin runic lines. "It's really beautiful, Sylvie. But why now?"
"I was actually saving it for your birthday next month, but with this vampire thing going on, I decided it was best I give it to you now." She saw my puzzlement. "It's not just a piece of jewelry, Jason. I made it especially to be a focus, a protection against evil, for you."
"But you know I don't really believe in that stuff."
She gave a lopsided smile. "Jason Wood, how in the world can you believe in vampires and sneer at crystals and spirits?"
"Touché." I slipped the chain over my neck. It felt cool against my skin. The three-inch-long hammer made a slight bulge below my collar. "This could look a little strange. I don't wear jewelry often. I think I'll put it on the wall. Or on Mjolnir's rearview mirror."
"No, Jason." Sylvie had her "feeling" face on again. "Wear it. Even if you don't believe, it will make me feel better if you keep it on you."
I wasn't about to test her accuracy after the last time. "Okay."
"Now what else has your machine come up with?"
"Nothing good. The problem is that there are so many versions of the vampire legend in myth and fiction that the best I can do is estimate probabilities. Problem with that is that even a low-probability thing could turn out to be real." I picked up a printout. "But I can't prepare for everything. So I've constructed a 'theoretical vampire' using all the probabilities that showed a greater than eighty-percent likelihood." I started reading. "Strength, somewhere between five and twenty times normal human, with a heavy bias towards the high end of that range; he can probably tip over a station wagon like I can a loaded shopping cart and leap small garages in a single bound. Invulnerable to ordinary weapons. What can hurt it is a nice question; only two probables showed up, sunlight and a wooden stake, although three more, running water, holy symbols, and fire, were just below the threshold. Does not show up on mirrors; after that photo I think we can take that as proven."
"Maybe he just doesn't show on film?"
"The legend started long before there was film. Stands to reason the mirror business had something behind it. Okay, where was I? Shapeshifting. This might have started as a blending of the werewolf and vampire legends, but most are pretty emphatic that at the very least the vampire can assume a noncorporeal form, like a cloud of gas. Changes those bitten into others of its kind, that's how they reproduce."
Sylvie shook her head. "No, Jason, that's silly. If getting bitten made vampires, we'd be up to our earlobes in bloodsuckers in nothing flat."
"So I simplified it. Actually, the transformation requires a full exchange of blood; the victim has to both have some of his taken and drink some of the vampire's. As an aside, if that happens, there is a fair chance that the new vampire is controlled by the old one. And speaking of age, the legends also tend to emphasize that the older the suckers get the tougher they are."
"Anything else?"
"Yep. They have a special attachment to the earth, particularly their 'home earth'—ground of the area in which they were first buried. They tend to be inactive in the daytime, and may have psychokinetic abilities. One other interesting note: many legends state that a vampire cannot enter a personal dwelling—house, apartment, whatever—without the permission of a legitimate resident therein. However, once given, the permission is damned hard to revoke." I put the printout down. "That's about it. Lower down on the list you get some really odd stuff—you should see the Chinese 'hopping vampire' subtype."
Sylvie sat in frowning thought for a few minutes. "So sunlight is the best bet?"
I waved a hand from side to side. "It's chancy. The problem is that while it's virtually certain that the vampire is somewhat vulnerable to sunlight, the degree of vulnerability is highly variable. Just about any vampire would die if you could stick it out on a beach thirty minutes from shade, but in the first twenty minutes it could do a lot of damage to anyone in the area. Several of the legends emphasize that an old and powerful vampire can even rise and walk about in daylight as long as they wear clothing that covers most of the skin and don't stay out overlong. Besides, I doubt he'd answer an invitation to a beach party."
"So what are you going to do?"
"See if I can get a handle on him somehow, so he has to come to me. And I think this negative is the key."
4
Two hours later, I wasn't so sure. "Funny, Jason . . . that picture looks the same."
"Oh, very funny, Syl." I stared at the screen, willing a faint outline to appear.
"Sorry, Jason. But this is not exactly the most exciting date I've ever been on."
"I'd have thought last night would have been all the excitement you could handle. Besides, we are not dating."
"Oh? So you kiss your male friends good night too?"
"Okay, then I won't do that any more." I pounded another set of instructions into the machine, a little harder than was really wise. Syl always rattles me when she gets on that subject.
"Oh, honestly, Jason! Don't sulk like that. I didn't mean to pressure you. It just strikes me funny."
"What strikes you funny?"
"You, Jason. You can face down an angry policeman, send crooks to jail, run a business, and you're calmly trying to track down a vampire . . . and you just fall apart whenever a woman smiles at you."
"I do not fall apart!" With dismay I watched the entire background turn a pale lavender. Hurriedly I undid my mistake. "I just . . . don't want to get involved. I don't have time. Besides, we are off the subject here." I ignored her tolerant smile.
"So what are you doing now?"
I turned back to the screen, then shrugged. "Nothing, actually. I've tried every
thing and it's no use. Either he simply does not show on any wavelengths or else, more likely, this film just has no sensitivity at all in any non-visible spectra. I can't bring up something that the film doesn't have on it." I slumped back, depressed. I really hate losing.
"Well, then, why not work with what has to be there?"
I looked at her. She looked serious, but there were little smile wrinkles around her eyes. "What exactly do you mean?"
"Well, this vampire's solid, isn't he? I mean, you don't shake hands with a ghost."
"Right. So?"
She pointed to the area in front of Connors. "He's standing right there somewhere. So his feet must—"
"—be on the ground there . . . and he'll be leaving footprints! Syl, you are a genius! And I am an idiot!" I selected the area in front of Connors that his invisible opposite should be in, started to enlarge it.
A few stages of enhancements passed. Then I smiled and sat back.
On screen, in the gravel of the pathway, were the unmistakable outlines of two shoes. A sprig of grass was caught underneath one shoe, showing an impossible half-flat, half-arched outline. "Syl, I could kiss you!"
"I'll bet you say that to all the guys." She looked pleased, though.
I saved the data and hid the disk away. "For that, I'll buy you dinner."
5
I tried to call Elias the next morning, but they told me he was back on his usual night shift. The police removed the yellow tape that day, and I found myself busy with regular customers until six-thirty; two major research literature searches for a couple of professors at RPI, a prior-art and patent survey for a local engineering firm, and a few simple source searches for a few well-heeled students who'd rather pay me than spend hours in the library. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing people like that a service, but what the heck, they'll pay for it one way or another. At seven I locked up and called Elias again. He was in this time.
He protested at first, but eventually gave me what I asked for: Verne Domingo's phone number. As I hung up, it occurred to me that Elias had actually not fought very hard. According to regulations, it was illegal for him to hand out that information, so he had to have wanted me to get it. I remembered him looking at the books yesterday. Maybe he just didn't want to get directly caught in the weird.