by Anton Strout
Nicholas gave a gentle and reassuring smile. He was much quieter and softer-spoken than I thought a vampire could ever be . . . more articulate, too. “Not quite,” he said. “I assure you we are still in New York City and still inside the Gibson-Case Center. The castle and its grounds are the result of much decorative illusion and not exactly what they seem. Through extensive landscaping, we’ve recreated the castle’s original surrounding homeland of Wallachia in painstaking detail.”
“There’s no way,” I said. “When we came out of that tunnel into the edge of the forest . . . There’s no way all that fits in just a city block.”
“I assure you, it does,” Nicholas said. “We’ve employed a lot of scenic trickery in designing this space.” Pride was thick in his voice and he stopped to point off to various areas nearby. “Forced perspective, false horizon lines, lighting to simulate the passage of night and day . . . theatrics to give the appearance of open space surrounding Castle Bran.”
“Hold on,” I said. “Did Brandon name your castle after 90210, too?”
Nicholas shook his head. “Actually, no. That is mere coincidence.” He started walking again and I followed. “Castle Bran is from Wallachia’s Brasov County,” he continued. “Our people took occupation of it when Brandon killed the Wallachian viovode Mircea the Old several hundred years ago.”
“How nice,” I said. “So what’s it doing here?”
“All this has been in the planning stages for years. The castle was finally moved here stone by stone over the past seventy years.”
“You’d have made an excellent history teacher, Nicholas,” I said.
“Architect,” the vampire offered, pausing on the cobblestone path as we reached the portcullis. “I was an architect . . . That was long ago.”
Sadness rolled off of him as he stood there in silence, and I fought to not get too wrapped up in his emotion. Thankfully, he began walking again and the sadness started to fade.
“So . . . what?” I asked. “You’ve built this ivory tower around your secret castle here? To what end?”
“It’s not just a tower,” Nicholas said, looking a little insulted. “It’s an entirely self-sufficient city-state. Have you ever heard of the term ‘arcology’?”
“Enlighten me, oh, architect,” I said. The tunnel where Connor and I had come in here was off in the distance and the vampire led us down the path toward it.
Nicholas ignored my comment, but spoke anyway. “The Gibson-Case Center is what’s known as a hyperstructure. We’re a self-contained, self-sufficient system of commercial and residential facilities—educational, business, housing, production, technological—all while maintaining the privacy of everyone living within the system, both human and vampire alike. We even have our own hospital, through which our residents unknowingly support our appetites with their contributions of blood by donating it to what they think is a regular blood drive. We see that those who donate on a more regular basis receive a reduction in rent in exchange. It’s very symbiotic and the perfect ecosystem for a culture like ours, who put such a premium on retaining our privacy.”
I whistled, impressed. “You’re telling me that not only did you move an entire castle into the city, but you then managed to put a . . . What did you call it again?”
“An arcology,” Nicholas repeated.
“Yeah,” I said. “That. You built this arcology around it?”
“That is correct,” he said.
“And no one from the Department of Extraordinary Affairs ever caught wind of this project?”
“I don’t wish to be insulting,” Nicholas said, “but let’s just say that previous generations of your Department weren’t always the sharpest. Brandon even insured hundreds of years ago that this location would be secured for years to come by generating decades of what you call ‘red tape’ until the true nature of our project was lost to the bureaucrats.”
“I’ve seen that handiwork,” I said as we entered the tunnel leading back to the puzzle door that marked the entrance to the Gibson-Case Center. “Make sure to give your leader my kudos. And all because you want to be left alone . . .”
“Our kind have changed,” Nicholas said when we reached the door. His arms blurred into action as he set about releasing the locking mechanism. “We have Brandon to thank for that. Please bear that in mind.”
The door opened onto the dead-end area of the center that was flanked by the two living statues. My eyes fought to adjust to the center’s high level of lighting.
“Give me a few hours,” he said, gesturing for me to step out. “I need to run some diagnostics before I have any real idea what is to be done about your girlfriend’s situation.”
I nodded and headed back out into New York proper, the sound of the door’s blocks and gears grinding shut behind me. I needed to run some diagnostics myself. Only mine were going to be of the could-a-vampire-even-be-trusted variety.
16
When I returned to the Department of Extraordinary Affairs, my mind was a cloud of confusion and raw emotion, so much so that as I made my way back through the Lovecraft Café, I didn’t dare look anyone in the eye for fear of accidentally spilling everything I knew. Back in the offices, I couldn’t help but feel the words from the bulletin board high up on the main room’s wall weighing down on me:
It has been 777 days since our last vampiric incursion.
The one time I had climbed that ladder to change it, I had felt a sick yet joyous sense of pride, even if I had had to change the number back in shame later when it turned out to be a false alarm. Now the pronouncement weighed heavily on me as I kept my new little secret. It was like having the Eye of Sauron upon me, watching, waiting . . .
I stopped briefly at my desk, only to weep when I saw a second in-box had been added to compensate for my caseload. The distant haroom of the Inspectre’s voice came from his office upstairs and I ran for the arched door that led down to the Gauntlet.
I couldn’t deal with the Inspectre right now. There was no way I could honor Connor’s promise of silence by flat-out lying to the Inspectre about the vampire situation, and God help me if Allorah was with him. When I reached the stairs, I stopped at the top of the old stone steps, pulled the wooden door closed behind me, and headed down to the archives.
The fatigue I had already experienced from the rest of my day’s adventures doubled by the time I hit the subbasement caverns that housed our archival unit. Godfrey Candella was once again in his usual spot, hidden in his office behind a stack of books, folios, and ancient maps.
“What’s up, Dr. Jones?” I called out.
Godfrey looked up from one of the maps. His straight black bangs brushed the top of his horn rims. He pushed the hair off to the right, parting it. It wasn’t much of an improvement given that all it did was expose the pasty whiteness of his forehead. “Umm, Dr. Jones was an archaeologist ,” he corrected. “I’m an archivist.”
“You really need to lighten up,” I said. “Maybe loosen your tie a little.”
Godfrey reached up and adjusted his tie, even though it was already in a perfect knot. “I’m happy with it as it is, thank you very much.”
I looked around. The Gauntlet was a hive of activity right now. Various archivists were running around with books and files, a few of them sitting at the long wooden research tables off in the main area. I didn’t see Godfrey’s little kiss buddy from the other day around. I snuck a peek back toward the stairs.
“You’re not expecting the Inspectre, are you?” I asked.
Godfrey looked up from the map he was reading. He cocked his head. “Huh? Am I inspecting the Inspectre?”
“Expecting,” I corrected.
“Oh,” he said, distracted by what he was looking over. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Good.”
Godfrey laid the map he was looking at back down on the desk, leaving it here. “Are you hiding from him down here?”
I shrugged. “More avoiding than hiding, really.”
&nbs
p; “I appreciate your attempt at honesty,” he said, glibness in his voice. “So what’s up?”
With everything I suddenly knew, I had to be careful how I approached anything, so I thought for a moment before answering.
“I was just wondering if I could ask you a few things about vampires.”
Godfrey’s eyes widened and he sat up straight.
“And you’re asking because . . . ?”
Here’s where it gets tricky, I thought. “No reason, really,” I lied. “You remember a few months back when I caused all that hoopla about vampires?”
Godfrey reached over to a stack of books on his desk and patted the top one. “Only there weren’t any? Or rather, only that one you reported on later and it got away. Didn’t sound like much of a vampiric threat, all things considered. I believe I documented that here in volume seven of the D.E.A.’s modern history.”
Knowing that it had already been canonized threw me for a loop, causing my face to go red with embarrassment. “That’s the thing,” I said. “I don’t want to go down in the history books here as the boy who cried vampire. Maybe if I knew a bit more about them, I’d be better prepared next time . . . you know, if there is a next time. I haven’t had a chance to take Vampirology yet.”
Godfrey nodded with understanding. I hated lying to the poor guy, but until Connor had a chance to come to terms with what his brother had become, I owed him the silence he had asked for. For now, at least. I doubted our newly discovered vampire menace was going to stay a secret long. Where things really got tricky was if it started to seem like telling the D.E.A. about vampires would help me get Jane back . . . but I’d burn that bridge when I came to it.
“I could take you back through the archives,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He folded his hands over his stomach. “Or I could just tell you what you’d like to know. Kind of saves me the trouble of having to walk back there.” He paused. “I thought maybe this tied in with that building schematic we were hunting out the other day . . .”
“It doesn’t,” I said, feeling like it came out a little too quick and defensive. If it did, Godfrey didn’t react to it. “How about we start with their history?”
“Well, if we go by what’s written about them, there seems to be a consensus that they originated in Eastern Europe, probably of a Slavic nature. You can tell by the many names they’re known by—Vampir, vepir, ubour, Vrykolakas, upirs . . .”
“And other things I don’t stand a chance of pronouncing,” I interrupted. I was pretty sure Nicholas’s mention of Wallachia covered that territory. “I get it. Any idea when all this started?”
Godfrey nodded. “We’re talking mid-1600s here, at least as far as actual sightings of them go.”
“And their origins?” I said. “If you tell me it’s all about Dracula, we can skip all this and I can head up to the movie theater. I think they’re starting a Bela Lugosi marathon this week.”
“Actually, there is some truth to the Vlad Dracula mythos,” Godfrey said, “but more from the historical tyrant end than the bloodsucking one. The rest is a bit unclear. From what I’ve read, the Department has never had one in custody long enough to get any answers.”
“Of course,” I said. “Dust first, ask questions later. That’s strict policy down from the Enchancellorship. Seems a bit primitive to me.”
Godfrey sat back up, looking a little uncomfortable with the conversation. “Well, technically speaking, the vampire has always been seen as a lethal predator.”
“Yeah,” I said, getting down to what I felt was the heart of the matter, “but is that just a nature-of-the-beast thing or are we simply lumping all vampires together in a big bucket of evil? I mean, look at dogs. Some are sweet as can be, and others? Well, it’s time to get all Dog Whisperer on their badass selves. What do you think, God?”
Godfrey stood up, stretching and then straightening his tie. “Do I think vampires are evil?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Honestly, I think it would have to depend on their origins, right?”
“How so?”
“Well, speaking of dogs, look at those chupacabras we found, for example. They’re not evil, as such. They’ve always been that way as far back as our records in the Gauntlet have been kept. Yes, they kill to survive, but so do a lot of normal creatures. That doesn’t make them evil, and they certainly can’t help being what they are.”
“But vampirism is a choice among people who think on more than an animalistic level,” I said, “whether it is forced upon someone or they choose it. All vampires start as human, and only through transformation do they choose to feed on humans for survival. It’s a totally different situation.”
“Agreed,” Godfrey said. “But where does that leave us?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Working with Other Division and the Fraternal Order of Goodness, I’m not even sure what constitutes as good or evil anymore.”
“Well,” Godfrey said, “not that I’ve seen much action in the field other than that whole Fashion Week zombie thing, but I know this. If something acts like a human and feasts on a human, it’s fairly evil in my book.”
As I mulled over his words, the sound of approaching footsteps rose up. Two sets of them, from the sound of them.
“What’s evil?” a familiar voice said from behind me.
I turned to see Allorah standing there, several files folded across her chest neatly in her arms. Next to her stood Thaddeus Wesker.
“Oh,” I said, covering, “no one in particular. We were just having a general discussion on the nature of evil. You know, deep, ponderous thoughts on the universe.”
Allorah looked skeptical, but smiled. “I see. You look exhausted.”
“I am,” I said. “I’ve been putting in a lot of hours and helping out a friend of mine on the side . . .”
“Just remember,” she said, her smile disappearing, “you’re on salary, and the Department doesn’t pay you for overtime.”
“That was very Enchancellory of you,” I said. The words stung my heart and my wallet. “Thanks for reminding me.” Standing there with Wesker and Allorah, every nerve in my body wanted to scream out VAMPIRES, and I felt like I needed to get out of there . . . fast. “I should be going. You all probably have business to discuss . . .”
I went to walk past the two of them as I headed for the stairs, but Wesker held one of his arms out, stopping me. “Actually,” he said, “Allorah was looking for you.”
“Me?” I asked.
“Yes,” Allorah added. “The Inspectre tells me that you are seeing someone from Wesker’s Greater and Lesser Arcana. Jane Clayton-Forrester?”
“God knows what she sees in him,” Wesker added.
My discomfort was immediate. “Is that against the rules or something?”
“Not at all,” Allorah said, pressing her handful of folders into my arms. I took them from her. “But she was the one you were with when that monster attacked you in the grocery store, yes?”
I nodded.
“I’d like to talk to her about the incident as well,” she said. “Get her account of the details. Perhaps there’s something you missed that she caught.”
“Oh,” I said. “I just thought it was easier if I filled out one report on both our behalves . . .”
Allorah shook her head. “You thought wrong.”
My face fell. Allorah stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “Just be careful how you conduct yourself while in the office,” she said. “Working for this underfunded department is tough enough without adding constant worry for the safety of a loved one to the list.”
The faraway look in her eyes and the concern on her face told me she was talking about something more than just Jane and me being a couple, but I wasn’t going all After-School Special on her, especially around Wesker.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I said. “Thank you. By the way, what are these?”
“The rest of the results came back on the la
b work I was running,” she said. “There’s something viral in all that drool I sampled off your clothes and I need you to look through these case files to see if you notice anything familiar. There are sketches of some of the potential creatures it could be, a few pictures. I need you to get back to me on it as soon as possible. We’ve got some mobilizing to do if we’re going to isolate this vampiric menace.”
Yer barking up the wrong tree, lady, I thought. The last thing I wanted to do was sit down to discuss vampires with someone who was hunting them, for fear I might get Aidan killed in the process by giving something away. Still, it was some comfort that Allorah was busy being distracted by a hunt for the monster from the grocery store.
Wesker cleared his throat and even though he was hiding his beady little eyes behind his sunglasses like some sort of sinister David Caruso, I could feel them burning into me with disdain. “Apparently, your girlfriend didn’t report back to work after our brunch meeting. You don’t happen to know the particulars of her whereabouts, do you?”
I bought some time by straightening the pile of folders in my hands while I thought of what to say. I couldn’t exactly tell them that Jane wasn’t at work because she had been sucked into a high-tech building’s computer systems while we were doing a little unsanctioned investigation that led to the discovery of vampires, now, could I?
“I haven’t seen her, either,” I lied. “I think she had some personal days coming to her and was catching an afternoon flight to visit some of her family back in Kansas. You know what? Come to think of it, she was having a little trouble sorting out all the paperwork for the time off and I was helping her. My bad, Director Wesker. Dammit if I didn’t leave it sitting on my kitchen counter back at home.”
Wesker stared at me, his eyes boring into me with scrutiny, but I didn’t dare look away.
“You’re lying,” he sneered.