Jack Templar and the Lord of the Vampires

by Jeff Gunhus

  Impossibly, the statue turned and chased the gargoyle, spike still cutting the air. But it was blind and the other gargoyles quickly swarmed it, forcing it down.

  “Come on,” I shouted to Daniel, shaking myself into action. “Time to climb.”

  He nodded, and we scrambled up the bronze statues’ now empty pedestals, then mounted the octagonal base of the spire where it attached to the roofs. The ornate stone and metalwork design gave us plenty of handholds. We shinnied up the surface, the adrenaline from so many near-death experiences in the last fifteen minutes pushing us to a manic pace.

  The base had two main levels that looked like open balconies. The first was easy enough to get to. It had eight stone arches with enough room for us to maneuver. Right above it, though, separating it from the next level, was a line of gargoyle rainspouts.

  Unlike the other Creach, these were still attached to the cathedral. Still, they twisted and spat like snakes. They were small, but I wasn’t about to let one of those stone jaws clamp down on me. I spotted a stone decorative spike and borrowed an idea from the bronze apostles. I gave it a stiff sidekick and broke it off at the base. It was heavy but functional. It felt good to have a sword in my hands again, even if it was made of stone.

  We climbed on the arches and made our way to the next level. The line of gargoyle waterspouts turned and snapped at us. I swung my spike and shattered the first with one blow. The others were harder to get as they dodged out of my way, but I was able to bust them after a few more tries. With the path clear, we made it to the second balcony.

  Slightly smaller than the first, it also had eight arches, but these were narrow and pointed. We climbed up and reached the top of the base where the real spire started. From this vantage point, I saw the roof to the front of the cathedral. I saw the bronze statues from the other three corners were engaged in the same battle against the gargoyles. There were hundreds of the stone creatures now. Without the help of the apostle statues, we would’ve been dead for sure.

  Lightning flashed, giving us a good look at the climb ahead. The spire rose above us, looking like it went straight up into the center of the storm. It made me think of my battle with the Aquamorph on the boat ride to the Academy. In order to defeat that Creach, I’d climbed up a flexible antenna into a storm. At the end of that fight, I’d jumped from it and fell into the safety of the ocean. I looked down at the cathedral below us. A fall here would be lethal.

  The radio crackled. I’d almost forgotten it was there. T-Rex’s voice came in fits and starts, like we were right on the boundaries of the radio’s range.

  “…don’t speak French…looking at the cathedral…,” T-Rex said. I heard another voice only barely. Someone speaking in French. Maybe the police? Then Will started to shout in the background and T-Rex’s voice changed. There were sounds of a scuffle. “Hey, let go…Jack, watch out…it’s the…coming for you...” And then nothing but static.

  I reached up to press the button to speak but Daniel nudged me. “We should stay quiet,” he said. “Whoever it is, we don’t need to let them know we’re up here.”

  “But they could be in trouble,” I protested.

  “Probably just security wondering why they’re loitering outside Notre Dame in the middle of a storm,” Daniel shouted. The wind shifted directions and made a high-pitched whistling noise as it blew through the balcony below us. “Nothing we can do from here anyway. Best thing is finish the job and then go find them.”

  I knew he was right, but it still didn’t sit well with me. The panic in T-Rex’s voice didn’t sound like the security guards had found them. But Daniel was right, no matter what it was, we had to finish what we came here to do.

  Short, stubby spikes designed as decoration covered the spire. They served perfectly for climbing. Without a scabbard to hold my stone sword, I left it behind so I could have both hands free. Daniel and I each chose a side and started the climb up.

  The wind screamed past us, seeming to get worse the higher we went. Rain continued to pelt us. Below, the battle between the priests and the gargoyles raged on. I kept my eyes straight ahead of me, trying to block out everything in the world except the next handhold and the next foothold.

  Soon enough, my hand reached up and found only a smooth surface. The spikes ended and, right above us, there was a round metal basket that looked like the crow’s nest on a ship. The problem was that we were underneath it and there was no easy way to get into it. And by easy, I mean no way that didn’t seem so incredibly dangerous that it bordered on the insane.

  The spire was so narrow here that Daniel and I, holding on for dear life on either side, could lean over and speak to each other.

  “We need to get past this,” I yelled. “Then it’s a straight shot.”

  Daniel handed me the end of a rope with a clip at the end. “Here,” he shouted back. “Just in case.”

  I opened the clip and snapped it onto my harness. Daniel fed me more line as I used the hooks on my elbows and wrists to crawl up the last few feet to reach the underside of the crow’s nest overhead. Support bars curved up around the solid basket’s outer surface. I reached for the bar nearest me and pulled myself up, allowing my feet to come entirely off the spire. I dangled in midair and worked my way hand over hand along the bar. The wind pushed me around mercilessly. The iron bar was slippery, and each time I reached for a new handhold I slipped a little before re-anchoring myself.

  The bar curved upward, following the outside of the crow’s nest. Soon, I was heaving myself straight up which at least allowed me to get my body back against the surface. I was almost to the top when I heard the sound of wrenching metal. The bar I was climbing had come loose and was bending backward.

  It was slow at first, just a barely discernible sensation that I was pulling away from the surface. Then it fell back sharply a whole foot before the bar caught again. It didn’t stop, just slowed into a more deliberate, creaking bend.

  I reached out for the surface of the crow’s nest, but it was too far away and getting farther away by the second. With no time to think, I jumped from the bending bar, flew through the air and reached out for the basket’s rim.

  I hit hard, bounced off the metal edge, and fell.

  At the last second, the hook on my wrist caught on a decorative curl of metal. I hung on the edge, my feet kicking in the air, looking down at the three hundred foot drop beneath me. I forced my body around and found a second handhold. With a cry, I pulled myself up and over the rim of the crow’s nest, panting from the exertion.

  “Are you all right?” Daniel’s voice crackled over the radio. The storm was wreaking havoc on the transmission.

  “Yeah,” I panted. “Keep feeding me line. I’m going up.”

  I saw the bronze rooster right above me about fifteen feet up. This last section was a wrought iron pole the thickness of a baseball bat. Halfway up it twisted into the shape of a cross and then extended another five feet to the rooster. None of this was unexpected since Xavier’s pictures from the Internet had shown me this area with detail. I just wasn’t prepared for it to be on fire.

  A weird green flame danced along the bars and covered the rooster. The pelting rain had no effect on it, and it made no sound.

  I reached out and touched the bar and the flame jumped to my hand and raced down my arm. I pulled my hand back, and the flame still danced along my body. But it didn’t burn me because there was no heat.

  I’d read about this phenomenon in books before, usually about ships at sea that had their masts glow green in the middle of storms. Long the stuff of superstition and legend from old sailors, it turned out to have a more simple explanation—an electrical discharge from the storm. But it still kept its awesome name, St. Elmo’s Fire.

  I knew the good statues below couldn’t hold back the gargoyles forever, so I threw myself at the metal pole and climbed. As soon as I did, St. Elmo’s Fire covered me completely.

  I couldn’t imagine how I would look if anyone on the ground saw me,
a glowing figure clinging to a metal pole in the middle of a lightning storm, six hundred feet up in the air on top of the most famous cathedral in the world.

  All this to reach a metal rooster because of a hunch that something important was inside. Not for the first time that day, I considered the possibility that I was crazy.

  I made short work of the pole and climbed onto the cross. Balancing on the horizontal arms and using the center pole to steady myself, I stood up and reached the rooster.

  It was larger than it appeared in the photos, round and thick like a huge watermelon. Whereas every other surface I’d seen on my climb was pockmarked with signs of weathering and covered with bird droppings, the rooster was in perfect condition.

  Its surface gleamed from the green fire licking around its edges without actually touching it. I felt a surge of hope. It was possible the rooster was made of some kind of metal alloy that kept it in such pristine condition and kept the fire from it, but I wanted to believe these things were because of the powerful talisman hidden inside of it. More than wanting to believe, I needed to believe. I wouldn’t have to wait too long to find out.

  First, I needed to figure out how to get inside it. There was no way I could bring the whole thing with me. Even hollow, it would be way too heavy. I ran my hands over the surface. It felt smooth and unbroken.

  I fought down a little surge of panic as I considered the contents might have been welded shut inside before being placed on the spire. I was just formulating a plan to throw the rooster off the building and find it below afterward when I felt a bump on the far side. I swung around so I was looking at the rooster from the opposite direction and let out a cry of relief. Embedded in that side was a small door with three latches on it.

  As I reached for the latches, the storm kicked up in intensity. Lightning lit up the sky and thunder boomed right after, so loud the world shook from the force of it. I fought down the sense that the thunder was meant as a warning for me and flipped open the first latch.

  The wind howled, whipping me from different directions. Screaming at me.

  I undid the second latch.

  The rain beat against me, doubling in its intensity, as if a cloud had burst open.

  I unlocked the third and final lock…and pulled open the door.

  Something screamed. A piercing sound so loud it hurt my ears. It felt like it went on forever, but in reality it was only ten seconds or so. It wasn’t a scream of terror or pain but of anguish. Finally, it faded into a mournful whimper and then disappeared.

  A lump formed in my throat as I realized I recognized the voice. Gregor. Whatever magic this was, it was far beyond my comprehension. At least I knew I had chosen correctly. The talisman had to be inside.

  I confidently reached my hand into the dark hole inside the rooster and felt around. Nothing. Just empty space. I stretched myself up higher so I could reach farther back. I systematically patted every square-inch of the interior, certain I had missed something.

  More cold dread filled me the longer I searched. I covered the entire interior and reached the point where I’d started. Frantic, I searched again, this time scraping the inside surface with my fingernails. My stomach ached and my head suddenly hurt. I thought I might be sick. I rocked back, staring in disbelief.

  The rooster was empty.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It didn’t make any sense. The clues had all pointed to the rooster. Gregor’s own voice had come out of it when I’d opened it. I couldn’t believe this wasn’t the right place. The storm reminded me it was still there, thrashing against me like I was an insect it wanted to brush off. I held on tight and squeezed my eyes shut. I thought through everything Gregor had said to me. Replaying the story. Saying the riddle over in my head. He had admonished me to use my head, but I couldn’t think straight. I had to be missing something. I just had to be.

  Then it hit me. One small thing in Gregor’s choice of words. Several times he’d warned me to use the head instead of use my head. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but it had stuck out enough for me to recall it. Maybe it was because his English was otherwise perfect. I probably wouldn’t have remembered it if I hadn’t been embarrassed each time he used it, implying I was a bit dense. But maybe it was the perfect secret clue. If he wanted to keep the secret safe from anyone who might capture and torture me for the location, embedding a clue that I didn’t even know was a clue now seemed brilliant.

  I steadied myself and reached up for the rooster’s head. As I did, the Templar Ring glowed red on my finger, raindrops sizzling when they struck it. This had happened before when I tried to open locks, so I held my breath and pulled on the rooster’s head. It slid out easily, a cylinder attached to it. I went to open it but stopped myself.

  I had no idea what was inside. If it was an old scroll with instructions on it, the rain would immediately ruin it and the climb would have been for nothing. I fought down the urge to see what was inside and instead put it into a bag attached to my harness. There would be time to inspect it later.

  With the cylinder safely in my bag, unexpected tears sprang to my eyes. My sense of failure and despair had been so absolute that the relief of finding it washed over me. I’m certain I would have broken down and sobbed right there, but the storm had other plans for me.

  I felt the lightning before it struck. The air around me crackled with energy, and I felt the hairs rise on my arms. Every ounce of instinct told me I was in serious trouble. I didn’t think; I just reacted. That’s pretty clear because if I had taken a second to consider what I was about to do, I don’t think I would’ve had the nerve to do it.

  I pushed back as hard as I could and jumped from the spire, twisting my body so I faced out. For a split second, I was suspended in the air, six hundred feet over Paris, the city lights dimly visible through the storm. Then a burst of light like a thousand camera flashes hit behind me, followed immediately by a sonic boom of thunder. The concussion wave blew me farther out into open space, pieces of metal shrapnel whizzing past my ears.

  The rope trailing behind me suddenly snapped tight and jerked me back toward the spire. The surface raced up to meet me and I slammed into it painfully. I used the hooks on my harness to grab onto the side and hugged it desperately. A wet, rock-hard surface never felt so comforting.

  Once I caught my breath, I looked up to see Daniel climbing down toward me. Above him, I saw the spot where the rooster had been. I say had been because the lightning had scored a direct hit and exploded the top of the spire into a thousand pieces. Logic told me that it ought to have acted like a lightning rod and just allowed the current to course down the spire to the ground, but I knew in my gut that there was more than just a weather phenomenon raging around us. There was magic at work here that I could never understand. In fact, I had no desire to. I just wanted to get off the spire and off the roof as fast as possible.

  Daniel reached me and shouted down, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I yelled back. “You?”

  Daniel nodded, “The canopy I was under protected me. Did you get it?”

  I grabbed the bag at my side reflexively, terrified that the cylinder might have flown out during my acrobatics. It was still there. “Yeah, I’ll tell you the story later, but I got it.”

  I looked down below us and was surprised to see the roof of the cathedral was abandoned. It was littered with debris from the battle, but both sides appeared to have decimated the other. Chunks of rocks lay strewn about, mixed in with wrenched metal torn into terrible shapes.

  Daniel and I climbed down quickly, taking care as the storm still raged around us. I’d read once that most climbing accidents happen on the way down a mountain because the climbers let their guard down. I tried to resist the temptation of feeling like we were in the clear. We were still standing on top of Notre Dame in the middle of a thunderstorm, possibly with Creach gargoyles waiting to ambush us.

  “Looks like we’re alone,” I said hopefully once we reached the base of
the spire, each of us standing on one of the platforms that used to hold an apostle statue.

  “There,” Daniel called, pointing down the length of the cathedral. Barely visible in the rain, five figures spread out in a line across the roof. One on the spiked ridgeline and two on either side, somehow walking upright on the steep roof. I was relieved to see that five of the bronze apostles had survived the battle, but that relief was short-lived.

  As the figures came closer, I saw they weren’t the statues after all. They were dressed the same as last time I’d seen them. Only now they had added capes over their clothes that blew way out behind them in the wind. They walked slowly toward us, not wary, just deliberate. Certainly, the Romani vampires knew how to make a great entrance.

  “Friends of yours?” Daniel asked, seeing the look on my face.

  “They’re the ones who took Eva,” I replied.

  Daniel drew his sword and held it in front of him. “I don’t know about you, but suddenly I don’t feel much like running.”

  “Where would we run anyway?” I asked.

  Daniel let out a short bark of laughter that sounded more like a growl.

  As the vampires got closer, the one directly in front of us threw back the hood of his cloak. Pahvi.

  “The one in the middle is mine,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Daniel shrugged. “Fine by me. I’ll take the other four.”

  I put my hand on his forearm and held him back. I wanted to see what I could find out from Pahvi first. I hit the transmit button on my radio in case we were back in range with the others. I wanted to warn T-Rex, Will and Xavier about this new danger without tipping off Pahvi that they even existed.