Bones and Bagger (Waldlust Series Book 1)

by Ted Minkinow

  “It would appear so,” he said, “wouldn’t it.”

  Simple. Break into the Aachen Cathedral, pry open the gold and silver casket, retrieve Chucky’s dry bones, and bring them…where? Maybe not so simple.

  Let’s say I could get through security and into the cathedral. Let’s say I could access the vault that protected the casket. Now let’s say I could open it and grab Chucky. Which one of the two mafia families get the bag? No Face, who’d promised to release my bagger friends, or Soyla, who’d promised not to do in Sparky.

  And while questions flew around my brain like anti-clue birds, why did I think Bernard would let me attempt any of it? The theft of Charlemagne’s bones would certainly make the front page of every newspaper in the world. With my luck they’d even beat the news out on drums so the rest of The Seven could enjoy it while they slow roasted some European. If threats to vampire secrecy represented Bernard’s mess to clean, then he’d need every variety of television miracle device and a thousand more industrious pygmies to make the floor shine after that kind of spill.

  My night consisted of a series of thumbs up, thumbs down moments. The notion that Gaius Teutoberg—that’s me in the third person—would attempt something so reckless to the vampire world might represent the final thumbs down.

  Nobody ever appears as vulnerable as when they’re seated. More so if they’re seated on the toilet, but I’d trade that advantage for the peace of mind knowing Bernard wasn’t doing his thing in my favorite desk chair.

  “Easy, big boy,” said Bernard.

  His mind waited at the destination as mine pulled into the depot. Remember how I said if a long-distance footrace represented vampire power, I’d be in the second pack trailing far behind The Seven? Looks like the same metaphor fit as far as brain power. Only putting me in that second brainy pack was just my ego talking.

  “Truce,” said Bernard. “For one hour we’re discussing.”

  “After that?”

  Bernard kept reading the site in front of him as he replied.

  “After can be elusive,” he said, “and too far ahead to predict.”

  What the heck did that mean? I did understand the truce part, maybe he wasn’t hungry yet.

  “OK,” I said. “Truce for one hour.”

  “Good,” said Bernard. “Now let’s work through all the players in this tragedy one more time.”

  Tragedy, he’d called it. Tragedy for me, all right. I was happily rolling a cart loaded with fat pills for Super Rumble when it all descended on me like droppings from a flock of geese. And tragedy for my friends. Sister Christian, J-Rod, Watanabe, and the Prince, that is. I still considered Sparky a friend, but the word tragedy didn’t seem to fit him. Consequence was more like it. Because if I could save my buddy Sparky from Soyla and whatever hideous death she planned for him, I’d absolutely kill him.

  Bernard and I went through the whole thing again. After all was over and he returned to his mud hut, he might consider changing the channel away from police dramas. The way he grilled me? Only the two-way mirror and hand recorder were missing. When I’d finished the third iteration of the interrogation, I checked the time. Twenty-seven minutes until the truce ended.

  “Why do you think they want Charlemagne’s bones?” Bernard asked.

  I was so focused on action—do something, even if it’s wrong—that I hadn’t stopped to consider the why part. I guess Bernard figured as much because he offered some advice.

  “It’s wise to know your enemy.”

  Sun Tzu with a bone in his nose.

  “Not important,” I said. “What IS important is I get my friends back.”

  My response sounded truculent to my own ears. Bernard stood and walked around the room. He stopped in front of Helmet and looked him over like a museum display. I had to hand it to Helmet. He stared the little guy in the eyes. Well, maybe not eyes, top of head would be more accurate, but you get the idea. No back-down in Helmet. Probably what got him shot.

  “Crucial importance, really,” said Bernard.

  Now he was looking out the window. I kind of hoped Herr Doktor would gaze up and see the little pygmy staring out on the third floor.

  “Allow me to demonstrate,” he said. “What benefit would Soyla’s employers gain from possessing the bones of any dead human?”

  I thought for a second and said, “I don’t know.”

  “Answer the same question but substitute Soyla with your demons.”

  “I don’t know.

  “Now throw angels into the equation,” Bernard said. “Why would they care to get involved?”

  He answered for me. “I don’t know. Right?”

  “Yes,” I said, and I sat down at the desk chair because if this truce were going to last I wanted to prevent Bernard from toileting all over it. Karl was bad enough without a pygmy assist.

  “What value is there in Charlemagne’s dry bones?” Bernard asked.

  I stopped with the “I don’t knows” as I figured they were pretty much assumed.

  “You can’t sell them,” he said.

  “Maybe it’s like a painting,” I said.

  “A painting?”

  “Yes,” I said. “People steal valuable paintings all the time. They always find a buyer.”

  It made sense. Always somebody out there who wanted to own something fabulous. They didn’t care whether anyone else knew they owned the thing or not. Short-sighted when you think about it. People never really own things but are just the caretakers. What’s created by man’s hands outlives the man who created it.

  “True,” said Bernard. “But then consider demon involvement.”

  I did, and I picked up on Bernard’s bread crumbs.

  “I assume demons don’t care about possessing things,” I said.

  “You assume correctly.”

  I glanced over to Helmet. He’d leaned up against the windowsill and had his legs crossed in that relaxed pose that said he was following all of this. Bernard sat down on the sofa. Karl heard the springs squeak at the child level and opened one eye. Seeing a likely victim the little dog jumped up into Bernard’s lap.

  It surprised Bernard. He picked Karl up and placed him a tiny arm’s length away on the sofa. Karl wasn’t having it. Ghost dog did the belly-crawl thing and stopped with his cold body pressed up against Bernard’s leg.

  “And what about Sarah Arias?” he said. “Why would she care one way or the other about who possesses a relic of Charlemagne?”

  Relic did sound much nicer than moldering in the grave. Bernard had a point. I’m not a Bible scholar but I took a stab. Keep in mind though, I’m the one who thought Ezekiel 37 referred to a rock band.

  “Her side doesn’t care,” I said.

  “Doesn’t care?” said Bernard. “What leads you to think they don’t care?”

  “I hung out with a few of the Hebrews in the old days,” I said. “They took care of the dead in terms of burial and that sort of thing just like we do.”

  “Like we do?”

  Awkward. Maybe cannibals just gather up the leftovers to make stew the next day or something.

  “We, as in Europeans,” I said.

  As I recalled those bearded gents from two thousand years ago, I knew I’d omitted a fact or two.

  “The Hebrew boys did have some stories about guys that were taken up to heaven before they died,” I said. “And a couple of times they mentioned bones specifically.”

  Bernard seemed interested in that last statement.

  “Did they?” he said.

  “Yes,” I responded. “But I think those were the bones of what they called their prophets and patriarchs, not European kings.”

  “I see,” said Bernard.

  He’d made his point about knowing the enemy. He called Soyla and the demons my enemies and he was right to do so. Each of them wanted to manipulate me into doing their grunt work under threat of taking something precious from me. And if I went blindly forward without a clue as to the why part, then I might leave
a crucial weapon in the scabbard. Perhaps my only weapon.

  “So what do we have?” said Bernard, and I got the feeling this was a test for what happened after the truce expired…five minutes later.

  “The motivation is still missing,” I said.

  But that wasn’t completely true, was it? I changed my wording.

  “Most of the motivation is missing,” I said. “We can assume Soyla’s people are motivated by money. Not one hundred percent sure,” I added. “But money drives people to these sorts of things.”

  Bernard nodded. So did Helmet. Karl raised his head to reposition it on top of Bernard’s thigh.

  “Sarah Arias and No Face?” I said. “Money doesn’t drive them.”

  “It would seem so,” said Bernard.

  “Right, wrong. Holy, unholy. Light, Darkness. That’s what motivates them,” I said.

  And discount cartons of cigarettes.

  Another nod from Bernard. He asked, “So how does that impact our strategy?”

  Did I hear that right? The little guy said, “Our strategy.” Call me an optimist, but it sounded like the truce would extend. And that he’d joined the good team. Well, he’d joined me, anyway.

  “It tells me that we first need to battle the Soyla faction,” I said. “Treachery is the currency of demons.”

  And of cannibal pygmies too. I managed to keep the brain/mouth interrupt switch engaged. Bernard picked up the trail.

  “Yes,” he said. “Quite.”

  He also picked up the beer bottle, brought it to his lips, and then set it back down before drinking.

  “The demons will be most patient,” he said. “And they already expect you’ll need to do some dealing with Soyla’s people. How did they put it?”

  “They said to bring them what they want,” I said.

  “Not spectacular grammar, is it?” Bernard said. “But it points to an expectation on their part that you’ll be tied up with Soyla’s faction before your ultimate delivery to them.”

  Score another good point for the big brain in the tiny head.

  “So let’s assume I get the bones,” I said. “What happens to Sparky when I double cross Soyla?”

  Bernard smiled. “No worries old chap,” he said. “Because whatever happens to Sparky will happen either way.”

  “Either way?”

  “If you need to ask,” Bernard said, shedding the polite Oxford air, “then we’re back to option three.”

  That would be my body flavored by my own spices in my own kitchen. The Seven may have temporarily joined forces with me but they’d do what they did best after the current mess sorted itself. Bernard had the good cop/bad cop routine down.

  And I was an idiot if I thought they needed me afterward. Understand the enemy’s motivation. That came from Bernard. I already knew The Seven wanted to minimize damage to the vampire world, and more specifically to their own continued existence. They were interested in the Blood Feud and sent Bernard to snoop for a few days. He found a much larger elephant to eat than any of them expected.

  Hadn’t he said they granted him authority to clean up as he saw fit? He could just take me out and let things happen as they would. Sparky would die. So would the baggers I’d brought in on my secret. But The Seven would need to step carefully with regards to and No Face. One was a dangerous, other-worldly creature who couldn’t be trusted to follow any form of recognizable logic. The other was a demon.

  Bernard needed to make sure everyone died, and you don’t send a boy, or a demon or a Hungarian warrior-woman, to do a cannibal’s job. That dawning certainty sure put a pin into the balloon that represented Bernard’s and my newfound team spirit. But it really wasn’t a team at all because Bernard represented just another group bent on manipulating me.

  So Bernard indicated that whatever happened to Sparky would be the same whether it came from Soyla or The Seven. “Either way,” he’d said. And when I asked for clarification he’d told me if I were that dense then we were back at option three.

  “I don’t need to ask,” I said. “And let me go on record as saying you and your friends are every bit the scum balls as No Face.”

  Bernard raised his eyebrows.

  “And I’ll say another thing that you can tape to your bone and shove in your nose. I’m tired of your arrogance, your implied threats, and your general rudeness towards me and toward Helmet and Karl.”

  I should have stopped there, but I didn’t.

  “If you’re thinking of killing me or any of my friends when this is all done,” I said. “Then have at it now, because I’m not participating until I have your word you’ll not kill my friends.”

  I saw Helmet nodding at me, encouraging me with the finger-twirl, keep going thing.

  “You can kill me without much difficulty,” I said. “Maybe. But you are going to have to do it. Let’s see if your capability lives up to your legend.”

  I felt my fangs growing and my muscles strain with that fight or flight power a normal human couldn’t match. I smelled blood, and it belonged to Bernard. And the scent drove a wild desire to attack. I wouldn’t need to find a vein because I’d bite through everything. Skin. Sinew. Bone. I wouldn’t stop until I tasted all of it.

  My voice sounded strained, compressed by anger and forced through extended teeth.

  “So jump,” I said to Bernard. “But do it now because I’m tired of your crap.”

  Bernard didn’t move. He sat on the sofa and stared at me for a few moments. Not so much in hostility or amazement as in thought. He used the polite Oxford voice when he spoke.

  “We’ve been watching you from time to time for centuries,” he said. “I never drew the duty personally, but I reviewed the reports.”

  He paused and it seemed he picked his words very carefully.

  “I’ve come to understand you’re a vampire of great strength,” he said. “And quite more intelligent than the modest IQ you’ve displayed thus far.”

  He looked down at Karl and began stroking him behind the ears.

  “Several times we’ve considered terminating you,” he said. “A preemptive move. I’m the only one who hasn’t seen you first hand, and am the one that vetoed each of those votes.”

  “Vetoed votes?” I said.

  I could feel my teeth retracting and my heart slowing. All systems worked their way out of the red zone and into yellow. Almost all of them. I could still smell Bernard’s blood.

  “Rather,” Bernard said, and that one word broke what was becoming a kind of blood trance. Not good. I did my best to stunt the growing desire. I’d need to feed and it needed to happen soon. I wouldn’t die. Not that simple. What I would do is become a deadly and indiscriminate killing machine.

  “And each of the tallies went six to one in favor of death.” Bernard’s voice talking me off the ledge.

  I understood what he was telling me but I wanted to confirm it anyway.

  “So you’re Prime of The Seven?”

  “It would seem so, wouldn’t it?” he said.

  Amazing. I’d never run into the deadly ankle biters…even though they’d been watching me. And I’d just swapped horror stories with their Prime. Oh, and I also challenged him to a fight. Spectacular stupidity. Even for me. The Prime of The Seven. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. I hoped he missed the part about the nose bone. I needn’t have worried. Just like every other Brit, once Bernard got talking, he showed no interest in shutting up.

  “Where was I? Oh yes,” he said. “Preemptive strike on you.”

  I began to get that restless feeling you get when all you can think about is blood. I could reign it in for a few hours. After that? Anyone around me would be at risk. Even Bernard. And trying to snack on him would push Bernard to option three.

  “Seems you’ve grown stronger through the centuries,” he said. “Never seen anything like it.”

  Helmet and I locked eyes for a moment and passed information in the silent way only roommates or married couples can do. He closed his own eyes and
feigned sleep.

  “So the boys wanted to end you before you got strong enough to end one of us,” Bernard said. He tittered. “Ridiculous, really. I think you still need a few centuries to go more than a few seconds with one of us.”

  Twerp thought he was reassuring me. Like I was supposed to be relieved to know I couldn’t defend myself against The Seven. These guys really needed to get out more.

  “I’d seen nothing noteworthy in you thus far,” Bernard said as if discussing a disappointing student to a colleague in the faculty. “Until just now. I must say, I did like that spark in you.”

  “Spark?” I said.

  “Calling me arrogant and offering to fight,” he said. “Brilliant use of the ridiculous in an attempt to confuse your opponent.”

  Ah, no, I meant it.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Don’t mention it old chap.”

  “And my friends?” I said.

  “Depends on them.”

  I heard finality and knew it would be pointless to discuss it further. Either I’d let my temper loose and see how many centuries short I was on power or I’d keep myself in check and try to save my friends. All of them. I held out my hand to shake on the deal. Bernard hesitated.

  Cautious, I thought. Maybe not so many centuries after all.

  “Fair enough,” I said as we shook. “Truce for the duration?”

  Bernard responded, “Truce until we return to this spot.”

  I didn’t recall inviting him back to my place after we left for wherever we needed to go. I decided to let that technicality ride out to sea on one of those brilliant but ridiculous mental waves.

  “Got a plan?” I said.

  Bernard, the jolly murdering cannibal pygmy SOB smiled at me for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening. I’d never seen real teeth so white and well-maintained. At least not on a Brit. Of course, he’d honed them to points, though I suspected he could regenerate them to square anytime he wanted. Somewhere in the back of my mind somebody’s naked grandma was telling me, “The better to eat you with, my dear.” Maybe it was me who needed to get out more.

  “Always,” Bernard said. “How do you think I got to be prime?”