For the Last Time and Other Tales

by Z.N. Singer

  But it was only then, at the beginning, that it was possible to affect all the vampires in the world at once. Because they all belonged to the First.

  The cross, the river, the sun, the smell of garlic – all of these were burned into their minds as synonymous with pain, fear, rage, death. And so they all became things that repulsed them. Strong Lords, with the powerful will that goes with it, could sometimes ignore some, or all of them, but never without conscious effort and practice. And no matter how strong they are, no matter how much life-force they have, no matter how much terrible punishment of any other kind they can take and still recover unharmed, any vampire that feels a wooden stake piercing his heart must die. It is a Law to them, engraved deep and hard where they cannot touch it. It is a part of them forever. And so in killing the First, that early group of hardened survivors made the hunting and slaying of vampires far easier forever after, even arming otherwise power-less people to repel them. The Five Weaknesses were seared into all their race for all of time. And so it has been, ever since. No one has changed it. Most likely, no one can. No one, in fact, has even tried.

  ***

  ***

  The Lord of Thyme

  ***

  The hut was perfect. The old woman had spent days making sure it was. The walls were dark, the ceiling smoky, the air musty and mysterious. The beach chairs and leftover bits of pool noodle had been cleared out and a suitably rustic fireplace made in the middle with some rocks. She been flummoxed when she found the palm decorations were stuck in at first, but some creative work had created a suitably wilted hanging herbs effect. Yes, whoever said the old days of prophesying were gone just lacked the determination to follow through with tradition. Youth these days, wanting everything handed to them. It just took a little work. She settled down against the wall, assumed a wise hunched position, and waited. Fate would soon bring whom she sought.

  Ten minutes later, she was forced to get up and stretch her back. Wise hunched positions were hell on your spine. There was a reason that mysterious message she'd left on his phone had asked for punctuality, dammit! No responsibility either. It wouldn't surprise her in the least if he refused to show and the whole world finally fell to evil. To be honest, she'd been expecting it for decades, ever since those silly hippies had gone loose. Children of spring my arse! I've known children of spring. I've made them. And they don't go lying about in a drug haze making fools of themselves with silly philosophy. I'd have spanked them one if I'd caught them at it. Children of Spring are happy, sweet, people who sing in fields and please the forest spirits with their love of nature—

  “And street gutters and park benches are not acceptable, dammit! Those louts couldn't have brought a harvest with a ten foot alter, and if they thought—”

  “Um...should I come back?”

  In a flurry of sand and a surge of protest from her knees, The Old Woman resumed her original place and position with blinding speed and asked haughtily, “And can I ask why you are late?”

  “Uh...sorry.”

  “Well sit down young man. The world will not wait. And we have no time. Or perhaps too much. If you spell it right.”

  “What?”

  “All in good time, young man, all in good time. Sit down and I will tell you the tale of the Lord of Thyme, and what must be done.”

  “Lord of Time?”

  “Yes. And we must hurry, to find the hero with the power to stop thyme, or all will be lost.”

  “But...I mean...wow. A Lord of Time? For real? How does he do it?”

  “I imagine a lot of machines are involved. He's mad of course, that helps too.”

  “And...and someone who can stop time?”

  “Why yes, how else could it be done?”

  “But...but won't the hero need a machine too?”

  “Nonsense, a good weed whacker will do.”

  “A weed whacker can stop time? You mean that's why trimming the lawn takes so long?”

  “....T–h–y–m–e. Thyme. He was a botanist. Before he went mad. He's some sort of plant genetic nut now I suppose.”

  “And so we need a hero who can stop...thyme plants?”

  “Very big thyme plants,” The Old Woman intoned impressively. “Very big, very bad, very dangerous thyme plants. They'll give you a hard time. If not stopped, they will bring bad times.”

  “Uh...which one do you mean now?”

  “Oh just shut and listen! I am going to tell you the tale of the Lord of Thyme and you are going to bloody listen in bloody horrified silence because it's bloody traditional and we don't have time if you don't want to be reduced to a wrinkle in thyme!” The Old Woman paused to catch her breath. “Get it?” She asked nastily.

  “...yes.”

  “Good. Oh hark ye!” She shrieked, noting his jump with vindictive satisfaction. “For I am going to tell you a tale of woe and how evil has come to threaten our happy innocent lives (shut up you), woe is me!”

  The Tale of the Lord of Thyme

  Doctor Loonatik was a busy man. Too busy. His neighbors wanted to know what was wrong with their precious garden peppers, his wife wanted him to lavish his PhD knowledge on her herb garden, and needless to say, his boss wanted him to spend all the rest and then some breeding new varieties of squash. He was a very frustrated botanist. Very, very frustrated. He was perfect snap-and-take-over-the-world material. He even had a white coat with stains. Green stains, but you could work with that. Plant blood, he could tell people. It was close enough.

  Some random angelic flunky decided snap day was Monday. April, for the irony. The fourteenth, because the thirteenth was reserved already for an overworked scientist in a nuclear facility, who was considered very promising and could not be convinced to reschedule. The boss was encouraged to pile it on; the neighbors wailed that now their tomato plants were wilting as well, and then, with the precise timing expected of inhumanly run bureaucracy, his wife marched in, slammed down a potted thyme plant, and said, “I thought I asked you to work on this! Haven't you got time for anything?”

  “Time? For thyme? No, I don't have time! Not for thyme, and not for anything else. You want me to work on thyme? I'll work on thyme! I'll give you the thyme of your life! They'll be stomping good thyme! Lots and lots of them. Hahahha, hahahahahah! That's it! I'm not playing around anymore! I AM THE LORD OF THYME!”

  “And so,” The Old Woman finished. “You must take highway 32 for about ten miles, exit onto Dest-in-ee at the second exit, and hang three lefts to find the Hero Who Can Stop Thyme. You will know him – or her – because he – or she – will be fighting the thyme bravely with a shiny chrome weed whacker. Understand that this weed whacker is no ordinary weed whacker. It is the Chrome Weed Whacker of Dest-in-ee. She – or he – must take it with her – or...oh forget it! You need to write those directions down?”

  “Uh...yes, I think so.”

  “Well, hurry up, get some paper.”

  So the unfortunate messenger rummaged about until he found a pen and paper and then wrote down the directions to find the Hero Who Can Stop Thyme with a Chrome Weed Whacker of Dest-in-ee. He had to read it out loud to The Old Woman three times before she was satisfied. She did not trust him at all. But no one seemed to respect seers these days, so she'd had to settle for someone she could bully. It was for the greater good.

  “Now off you go lad, and make sure you drive fast enough to save the world.”

  “Uh...I don't want to get a ticket...”

  “Hmmph. Just don't be late. You sure you've got those directions?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the instructions and directions to find the Lord of Thyme's Lair?”

  “....you didn't tell me that.”

  “Of course I did!” The Old Woman snapped. “Do I have to repeat everything? Fine. And pay attention this time. Get that pen out.”

  The beleaguered young man obeyed, and hoped he wasn't going to lose his job at Larry's Hat Rentals doing this. Larry didn't like his employees disappearing.

>   They say to set a thief to catch a thief. To catch a spy, use a spy.

  To stop a mad botanist, therefore, it follows that you would use another mad botanist.

  Unfortunately that would violate the principles of opposites oppose, which states, roughly transliterated, that every emerging force of evil creates an equal and opposite force of good that will dramatically triumph despite evil having a head start (often in excess of decades) (well, the triumph part isn't officially part of the rule, but we all know how the deck is stacked). So, instead of a mad botanist, fate spun the wheel and picked a very, very practical herb and flowers shop worker.

  So that we can dispense with the politically correct double pronoun business now, our particular hero is female. A heroine, therefore, to be precise. Everyone expects you to be precise these days. Failure to precisely state seemingly obvious details such as 'this coffee is hot ma'am' can lose you enormous amounts of money. But we're covered now.

  At the moment, our heroine is pruning daffodils. But she is doing it next to some roses, which makes all the difference, because everyone knows stopping to smell the roses is a sign of a well balanced individual with, g-d bless him (or her – dammit), a working schnoz. If the Lord of Thyme had stopped to smell some roses, he might well have calmed down enough to take a more reasonable approach to solving his problems, such as telling his neighbors and wife to stuff it. He does also have a working schnoz, but even the law of opposites oppose has to draw the line somewhere and we really can't expect her to start maiming herself right and left to keep it up, so just forget it.

  As we were saying, our heroine has just stopped to smell the roses when she was supposed to be pruning daffodils. She had not, however, intentionally stopped to smell the roses. I emphasize the 'intentionally' to point out that she was nonetheless stopping and smelling roses. She just happened to be doing it while listening to the sounds of glass breaking and people screaming outside.

  It sounded more interesting than trimming daffodils, even if you were simultaneously if unintentionally smelling roses. She was smelling the roses, all right?

  Thank you.

  Anyway, at this point our heroine decided to stop smelling roses (ahem), and go upstairs to see what was going on, and if her Dad, who owned the shop, needed her to hit anybody again.

  He hit the men, she hit the women. They made a good anti-lawsuit team.

  Genderless offenders however – she paused to deduce at the top of the stairs – were probably open season.

  Besides, plants probably couldn't be represented in court, even giant mobile ones. She sniffed. Mmm, thyme. At least it smelled good when you killed it.

  “Hey Dad, those aren't any of ours right?” She shouted over the general pandemonium.

  “No, they came out of nowhere from down east, must have come from that old bit of property over the Damn Toll Bridge that got bought two weeks ago and had all the weird trucks and sounds and smells and bought two dozen thyme plants.”

  Gertrude nodded. Figures. A nice big piece of property, a little run down but lots of potential if you had a mind towards investment, and who moves in? A nice millionaire with a penchant for gardening? An up and coming candy making company? Nooo, you get a mad scientist. Did they have a disclaimer to cover the sale of seed material to megalomaniacs? They'd have to make one up.

  “So what do we do?” She shouted. Please be advised that all responsibility for any acts...

  “I thought we'd just lock the door and wait it out,” her dad shouted back.

  That may be undertaken with any of our products – “Are you kidding? Franks Flirty Flowers will have us the scapegoats in no time. Besides, they're trashing Mrs. Kudowoodo's lawn, she's a regular customer!”

  “So what do you think we should do?”

  “Kill thyme.” Gertrude declared heroically.

  “...that's what I said!”

  “No, kill thyme, the plants.”

  “Are you kidding? We haven't got any weapons!”

  “They're plants Dad, all we need is a weed whacker, where's that new jumbo model you ordered?”

  “Down the hall next to the big box they stenciled it just like I asked Chrome Weed Whacker of Dest-in-ee ain't it rich can't miss it.”

  Gertrude heroically pounded down the hall, leaping two potted banana peppers that had become un-potted. Maybe they could sue the scientist when this was over? Oh yeah, that's right, uh...please be advised...no, that was no good, not strong enough – The Father Daughter Plants and Fodder Shop is a distributor only. All of our products are legal when they leave the store and we are not responsible for any further action taken by or with them, legal or illegal, regardless of the means. As such you, the customer, are fully responsible for all repercussions, consequences, and legal ramifications for any actions you may undertake that...

  Gertrude paused, turned around and ran back down the hall.

  Involve any of our products in any way...hmmm, any loopholes? She couldn't find any at the moment, but you never knew. She'd have to ask a lawyer.

  Gertrude paused, turned around again and headed back the way she'd started. This time, she remembered to stop when she reached the weed whacker.

  “Oh yeah,” She said, eying the oversized instrument of floral destruction. It was a beaut, all right, and the stenciling looked good, even if it was an awful joke. But she'd heard worse. Heck, with all these thyme plants around, she'd probably hear lots. She might even make a few herself in self-defense.

  She picked it up, hefting its mighty length with both hands. A thrill of destiny overcame her as the metal shone and the engines heavy weight promised green shredded mayhem. A long awaited realization overcame our heroine.

  She'd always wanted to abuse one of these.

  Gertrude pounded down the hall and out the door like a force of anti-nature. She revved the motor with a maniacal grin. Her eyes flicked alertly about, searching for an ideal first victim. There – that wimpy one! She howled and ran towards it, Chrome Weed Whacker of Dest-in-ee held ferociously overhead.

  “Yee ha! A thyme to kill!”

  The evil thyme plant cowered away, but the adrenaline high Gertrude was having none of that – she lopped it in half and then did it twice more because it felt good.

  “Hey, it's easy. Ok, where's a bigger one...hey, I and my dad spent two DAYS on that lawn!”

  No longer was it merely duty or the excuse for power tool mayhem that drove her – this was personal. She leaped into the midst of the vandalizing herbs spinning her trusty C.W.W.D. in deadly circles, shredding four thyme plants into salad.

  “Haha! Who'd have thought killing thyme was such an awesome way to kill time?” Gertrude exulted. She snatched up a thyme head and flung it into the air and sliced it in half. “There, see? Now run you lousy plants, or I'll give you the time of your lives! Get it?”

  They got it. They'd already left.

  “Huh. That's right, leave a hero dangling. Heroine,” she corrected herself. Pity she couldn't sue herself. “Why I've a good mind to follow you back to that lair of yours and give you a piece of my – machinery!”

  “Uh, actually, I think that's what we're supposed to do next...”

  Gertrude blinked and glanced to her right, where a thin, harried looking five foot five wimp in a suit had sidled over. “Sorry? What we, and where did you come from? You're not with those plants are you? You look just like a megalomaniac's terrified underling to me. Maybe I should lop off your head.”

  “Er...would that work? I thought they were people safe...”

  “One way to find out.”

  “No no no, I'm with the good, I mean, the crazy, I mean, the Seer sent me, see?”

  “See-er? Well I like that. I don't know just where this creep has been 'see-ing' me, but he can just...oh. That kind of Seer. So I'm prophesied huh? Cool. Who do I kill? Misusing this thing is awesome.”

  “....uh, I think we're supposed to stop...well, I guess you could kill him...uh, the dread Lord of Thyme doth threaten this rea
lm with dire mayhem and misery and it is up to you, oh hero – ine – to put an end to his evil!” He said, belatedly remembering his highly detailed instructions. It would have helped if his voice hadn't wavered like he was speaking through a fan. He really wasn't cut out for this stuff. Plant blood made him dizzy.

  “Oh well okay, if you insist.” Gertrude said with a shrug. A neighbor like that would be bad for business anyway. In fact, good lord, what kind of publicity would a mad scientist using their thyme plants be? She had to get rid of him fast!

  “There's no time to lose! Uh...many doll – people are in peril! Where do we go?”

  “Uh, across the...uh....” The wimpy young man scrambled in his pocket and pulled out a bedraggled bit of paper. He squinted at it. “Uh...we have to...cross the terrible Bankruptcy bridge and brave his many minions through labyrinth halls...uh...that's it.”

  “That's it?”

  “Er...yes. That's it.”

  “...Who gave you those directions?”

  “The Seer.”

  “The same one who said I was the hero – I mean heroine?”

  “Er, yes. Ah, she did know about the Chrome Weed Whacker of Destiny,” Harry pointed out tentatively.

  “She did?”

  “Yes. She did. So, she, uh, can't really be a fraud, right?”

  “She told you where to find me too?”

  “Those directions were a lot more detailed,” Harry said fervently.

  “Well, these are lousy.”

  “Uh, yeah, they are.”

  “Well, what are you going to do about it? You're the guide, aren't you? I don't suppose you're insured.”

  “Er, not for this.”

  “No use suing you then,” Gertrude muttered. “Okay, I see I'm going to have to take care of this. Wait here a minute.”

  “Uh, right, okay.”