by Ryk E. Spoor
"My time? What about you?"
"I have done all I intend to. If you fail, then I may have to act more directly. I prefer, however, to let you finish the job at hand."
I glared at him, but he simply gazed back with expressionless eyes. "Are you sure he can't sense me?"
"Quite. Any vampire can cloak a limited number of mortals from the senses of other vampires; undoubtedly our friend Klein used that to conceal whatever partners he worked with. Mr. Klein will not notice you until he actually sees you. At that point, my protection will be gone." He glanced outward. "They have entered. Good luck, Jason Wood."
I gave his hand a quick shake. "I wouldn't say it's been fun . . . but it has been interesting."
Carefully, I started for my front door. I slipped inside and walked with great care along one side of the hallway. As I approached my office, I heard Klein's voice.
"Where else? Think, Sylvie! That negative may be the only thing keeping Jason alive now!"
Sylvie's voice trembled faintly. "I don't know, Elias—wait. He kept data disks in a safe, over there behind the wall panels."
Footsteps as they went from the upstairs towards my workstation; then a rattle as the panel was pushed open. I peeked around the corner from the den.
Sylvie was standing behind Elias, who was bent down over the small safe. "Sylvie, do you know the combination?"
"I don't know if I should tell you that."
He turned towards her; I ducked back just in time. "Sylvie, please! Domingo knows that negative is the only hard evidence we have! Without it we don't have a thing to bargain with."
She sighed. "All right. It's 31-41-59."
He snickered a bit. "Of course. Pi." I heard him turn back to the safe.
My only chance. As quietly as I could, I stepped through the door and snaked an arm around Sylvie, clapping my hand over her mouth and nose so she couldn't make a sound. Then, as Elias was swinging the safe door open, I yanked Sylvie's head towards me enough so she could see me. Her eyes widened, then narrowed when I put a finger to my lips. I could see her glance towards Klein as I let go. One nod told me she'd figured out the situation. She slowly started back out the door.
"Sylvie, it's not there! Where else—you?!" As Elias turned, he caught sight of me. I'd never seen someone's jaw literally drop before. He stood there for several seconds, just staring.
"Hello, Elias." I raised the gun.
"Wood? Wood, what the hell are you doing? How did you get away from Domingo? We were worried to death about you!" He started forward.
I gestured with the gun; he stopped. "No, I don't think you were worried at all, Elias. You were sure that after I called Domingo he'd cancel my ticket for you. Save you the trouble."
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't try it, Elias; I can see you thinking about moving. It must've been a shock to you when you came in and saw all those vampire books on my desk. You knew right then that I was closing in on you. You saw one chance to send me off on a one-way chase after the wrong guy; that negative. All you had to do was call my attention to it; you could rely on me to imagine the rest." I shook my head. "Even then, you almost blew it entirely by pointing out that SLR—Single Lens Reflex—cameras show exactly what's in the picture. You see, SLRs use mirrors to send that image to the viewfinder. I knew that, but with everything else I didn't think of it at the time. Anyone taking snapshots of a vampire through an SLR would've known something was funny . . . if, of course, he wasn't a vampire himself. I dunno if you even realized you'd made a mistake there, but whether you did or didn't the whole thing was fantastic control on your part; you must've noticed the books as soon as you came in, and you never gave a sign. And your shock at seeing them—only after you'd made sure I knew the significance of the photo—oh, that was perfect. But Domingo wasn't the ruthless guy you thought he was." I clicked the safety twice, so he knew it was ready to fire. "There's only one thing that puzzles me, Elias."
He dropped the pretense. "What, Jason?"
"Why? I mean, does it have to be human blood? And do you have to kill?"
His hands twitched aimlessly. "Human blood has . . . more of a kick to it, I guess. And when they die, you get this incredible rush, a feeling of such power . . ." He'd been looking at his hands. When he raised his face, my guts turned to ice. Deep in his eyes was a hellish red glow. And as he spoke, I saw lengthening fangs. "Besides," he continued, and now his voice had an edge of hysteria, "besides, they had to die. They saw me, you see. And it wasn't as if they were anyone important."
"Not anyone . . . Elias, they were human beings!"
"You always did take the liberal view, Jason." His face was distorting, somehow shifting before my eyes. "I really liked you, Jason . . . But now you have to die too." He smiled, and there was very little of the old Elias in that deadly smile.
"Don't, Elias. I don't want to kill you."
He started forward slowly. "Let's not pretend, Jason. You can't arrest me, and I need blood."
I backed away, trying to make myself pull the trigger. But, Jesus, Elias was my friend! "Stop, Elias! For God's sake, you're addicted, that's what you're talking about! There's therapy for addicts."
He laughed. "That's funny, Jason. Should I go to AA? 'Hello, my name is Elias, and I'm a vampire?' " He shook his head. "I didn't want to kill you, but I have no choice. Neither have you. It's a shame that you can't do anything about it." He was barely human now, a Hollywood vampire straight out of Fright Night. "Good-bye, Jason." He rose straight off the floor, a nightmare of fangs and talons.
My finger spasmed on the trigger.
There was a roar of thunder.
Elias was hit in mid-descent. The force of the round, as it mushroomed within him, hurled him back over my desk. He rose, only a scorched bullet hole in his suit showing he'd been hit.
"So much for silver," I said as I sprinted out the door. I almost bowled Sylvie over as she came running back. "Go, Syl, Go!" I heard jarring footsteps behind me, whirled and fired the second bullet.
The bullet caught him square in the chest; Elias' scream shook the windows as white flame exploded from the incendiary bullet.
"Wood! You bastard! That hurt!" As I backpedaled away, I could see the burns healing. "I think I'll break a few things before I kill you!" He ducked away before I could get another clear bead on him.
"Shit. Anne Rice failed me too. I should have known better than to trust a book with a punk vampire." I glanced around nervously. If I were a vampire, where would I come from next . . . ?
I whirled, in time to see Elias coming through the wall like a ghost. I leapt through the doorway to the kitchen, but Elias' hand caught me just as I reached the side door. "Gotcha!"
I tried to pull away, but I might as well have been pushing on a vault door. He bent his head toward my neck. I screamed.
Then it was Elias who screamed, a yell of utter shock and agony. I fell to the floor and rolled heavily away, looked up.
Sylvie stood there, holding a large ankh before her. "Back, Undead! By the power of Earth and Life, back!"
The incantation sounded silly; Elias obviously saw no humor in it. As he turned away, trying to get around the looped cross, I saw a black imprint on his back where the ankh had hit him. I raised the .45, fired the third bullet.
The heavy shell hit him like a sledgehammer, spinning him completely around, smashing him into the stove. He put a hand to his chest, where a red stain was beginning to spread. His expression was utter disbelief. Then he fell facedown.
"What did you hit him with?"
I looked down at the body. "A wooden bullet. Thank you, Fred Saberhagen."
"Who's he?"
"He wrote The Holmes-Dracula File; that's where I got the idea." I holstered the gun and started out of the kitchen—I didn't want to look at the body while I tried to figure out what I was going to say to the cops.
Elias' hand shot out and grabbed my ankle.
I felt myself lifted like a toy, smashed into Syl, send
ing her ankh flying. Then there was a crash and I felt slivers of glass cut me as I was hurled out of the window. I remember thinking vaguely that I'd gotten the genre wrong. It wasn't a mystery novel; it was Friday the 13th, where the psycho never dies.
I landed badly, barely rolling. I heard the gun skid out of the holster. I scrabbled after it; but then a leather-skinned hand closed clawed fingers around it. "You almost had me, Jason," said the thing that had been Elias Klein. "Too bad you missed the heart. It still might have worked, but you must've used an awfully tough wood; most of the bullet went right on through." He squeezed. The barrel of my gun bent.
I got up and ran.
I didn't get twenty feet.
Talons ripped my shirt; he pitched me the rest of the way across the street and through a storefront. A shard of glass ripped my arm, and my ankle smashed into the edge of the window. I looked up, seeing Elias approach me, the inverted neon letters above lending a hellish cast to his distorted features.
Neon letters?
I scrambled away from the window, limped towards the back of the store, grabbed the doorknob, ducked inside.
It was a tiny room with no other exit. I was trapped. The door opened. "A dead end. How appropriate." Elias smiled. No reluctance now, he was happy to kill.
I tried to duck past him; his hands lashed out like whips, lifted me clear of the ground. He turned while holding me. "Trying to get out the door?" He shoved me through the doorway, pulled me back. "It's over, Wood . . . and I am hungry." He bent his head again.
Suddenly the crystal hammer went warm against my chest. Elias cursed and dropped me. "Damn that bitch! She made that, didn't she?"
I didn't answer. I hurled myself towards the switch by the door.
Elias caught me with one hand. But I swung my body and kicked the switch up.
The tanning booth blazed to life, uncountable rows of sunlamps flooding the air with concentrated sunshine. Elias shrieked, dropped me, threw his arms across his face. "Shut it off! Oh, God, shut it off!"
I took a limping step back.
"Please, Jason, please!" Elias stumbled blindly towards me.
I swung my right fist as hard as I could.
He was off balance already. He fell backward onto the tanning bed. "Oh God oh God I'm burning alive Jason please!!"
Blisters popped across his flesh. There was a stench like burning meat. I felt my stomach convulse, turned away.
"Oh I'm sorry I'm sorry oh just help me Jason!"
"I'm sorry too, Elias," I choked out. I put my hands over my ears but I couldn't drown out the sound of frying fat.
"HELP MEEEeeeee . . ."
Slowly I uncovered my ears. Then I opened my eyes and turned around.
On the tanning pallet lay a blackened, scorched mummy, mouth gaping wide, revealing the razor-sharp fangs. One hand was frozen above the clouded eyes, clawing the air in a vain attempt to fend off the radiance, blistered skin drawn tight over the bone. As I watched, the skin began to peel away and turn to oily smoke.
I was violently sick.
7
"So what are the police going to do about this?" asked Sylvie.
It was the next evening. I was lying on my bed with my left ankle's cast propped on a pillow. "I was lucky. It was Renee Reisman who got there first. Between us and the ME we faked up a story that should hold."
"So what's the official line?"
"Klein was running a sideline of drugs and protection and was going to set Domingo up to take the fall. The victims like Lewis were connections who knew too much. When I was called in, I got suspicious. Klein decided I had to be removed too, came after me. In the fight, we ended up in the salon, where he swung his gun into one of the lights and electrocuted the shit out of himself."
Sylvie looked at me like I was crazy. "Are you nuts? No one will swallow that yarn for a second! One look at that body and any layman would know there was something fishy . . . once he stopped tossing his cookies."
"First, no one is going to see that body. Second, most of that department are hard-nosed realists. They don't want to believe in vampires and are not going to reopen the case if that is the direction the investigation will take them."
"Is that all?"
"Nope, there is one more thing." I nodded my head in the direction of the door.
Verne Domingo stepped into the room.
Sylvie's eyes widened.
"Greetings, Ms. Stake. Thank you for inviting me into your home, Jason."
I shrugged. "I figured I should return your favor."
"I am the final reason the ruse will work, Ms. Stake . . . or can I call you Sylvia?"
"Uh . . . Call me Sylvie." She looked at me. "Jason, are you sure this is safe?"
"Syl, if Mr. Domingo wants my ass, he doesn't have to do it himself."
"Exactly, Mr. Wood."
"So just exactly what are you doing to make this silly story work?"
"Vampires have many talents, Sylvie. One of them is a degree of mental control. I have exerted this ability so as to make the involved people believe the story as presented."
"You hypnotized them?"
"Something a bit more reliable, Sylvie. It is obviously in my interest to make this story work, as you put it." He bowed to me. "An excellent bit of work last night, Mr. Wood. Congratulations." With that, he simply . . . faded . . . away.
It was several seconds before we stopped staring. "Wow," Sylvie said finally.
"Yeah." I agreed. I blushed a little. "Uh, Syl . . . I didn't say thanks. You saved my life twice last night. First with that crazy stunt with the ankh, then with the hammer charm." I pulled it out and looked at it. "These things are only supposed to work with faith. I don't have much of that. Yours must have been enough for us both."
She flushed to the roots of her hair. "Don't sell yourself short, Jason. It was made for you; any strength it showed came equally from your own spirit."
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
Sylvie suddenly gave a little exclamation and snapped open her purse. "Oh, Jason, I have something to show you." She handed me a slip of paper.
"What's this?" I asked as I took it.
"It's a little ad I placed today in several of the paranormal journals. Just read it."
I looked. Then I burst out laughing.
The ad said:
Problem the authorities won't believe?
CALL US!
WOOD 'N STAKE
Vampire Hunters
Lawyers, Ghouls, and Mummies
8
It is an immutable law of nature in any business that just as you go to hang up the "Closed" sign, the phone will ring or a customer walk in. It gets to the point that you automatically hesitate for a few seconds before finally turning the lock and setting the security system, not because you've forgotten anything, but because you're giving the inevitable a chance to make its appearance less painful through preparation.
This does not fool the gods, however, so just as I stopped hesitating and turned the key, the phone rang. I gave my usual mild curse and picked up the phone. "Wood's Information Service, Jason Wood speaking."
"Ah, Mr. Wood. It is good to hear your voice again."
There was no way I could forget that deep, resonant voice with its undefinable accent. "Mr. Domingo! This is . . . a surprise."
I hadn't heard from Verne Domingo in several weeks, ever since we'd finished the Great Vampire Coverup, and hadn't expected to ever hear from the blood-drinking gentleman again.
"No doubt. I was wondering if you would do me the honor of joining me for dinner—in the purely normal sense—sometime this week."
Well, now, there was a poser of a question. And given that he obviously had more than enough people to call around and arrange his schedule, it must be rather important to him if he was calling me personally. "Ummm," I said smoothly. "Might I ask why?"
To my surprise, he, also, hesitated for a moment. "There are several matters I would like to discuss, but at least one of them was tou
ched on during your first visit to my home. In a sense, you might consider this a business meeting."
"I'm aware of certain elements of your business, Mr. Domingo," I said, trying not to sound overly cold despite my distaste for drug-runners. "Without meaning any undue offense, I don't think that I could be of much assistance, given certain other elements of my own." Such as wanting to stay on the right side of the law, for instance.
I was startled to hear a soft chuckle. "Would you be willing to take my word for it that you would find any business proposal I would make to be neither overly onerous nor morally reprehensible to you?"
I considered that. "As a matter of fact . . . yes, I guess I would. All other things aside, you strike me as a man who takes his word very seriously."
"Your perceptions are accurate. Can I take that to mean you will accept my invitation?"
"Now that you've gotten my curiosity up? You'd have a hard time keeping me away. I can't manage it tonight, but tomorrow night or Thursday would do."
"Excellent. Tomorrow night it is, then. I shall tell Morgan to expect you at eight o'clock. Have you a preference for a menu?"
What the hell, I knew he wasn't hurting for money. "Since you're buying, I have a fondness for fresh lobster and shrimp."
"Noted. My chef rarely has a chance to show off; I shall let him know someone will be coming who can appreciate his work, as he has himself a preference for seafood dishes."
"Great. Um, should I bring anything with me, this being partly business?"
"For this meeting, I think just your mind will suffice. If we reach a significant agreement, then we shall go into the more formal details."
"Gotcha. Okay, see you at eight then."
"I shall be looking forward to it. Good-bye, Mr. Wood."
"Good-bye, Mr. Domingo."
I stared at the phone for several minutes afterwards. "I have a dinner date with a vampire."
9
It was, at least, somewhat more comforting to be pulling into the huge curving driveway in my own car under my own control. My prior visit had been rather informal, when several thugs in Domingo's employ had dragged me out of bed, bundled me into their car under gunpoint, and shoved me into his parlor while still in my pajamas. So this time I was not only here by choice, but I was better dressed, too.