by Kim Newman
From small beginnings – an answering machine and a beach shack – they’d risen to an office suite on Cahuenga and a succession of aspiring actor receptionists who could type a bit and give blood when needed. AI had handled cases for the Diogenes Club, the Lohmann Branch and the Angels of Music. They were even owed favours by the Unnameables.
This was supposed to be a business meeting, but looked more like a surprise party. A nasty surprise party.
The foyer was cluttered with ominous junk. Suits of armour. Wired-up skeletons in life-size pornographic dioramas. Mummy cases stamped ‘Property of Universal Studios Prop Dep’t’. Portraits of long-faced, sad-eyed members of the Loren family, going back to Spanish Mission days. The ancestors all looked like Vincent Price – especially the women. A long table had seven miniature coffins as place settings, just the size for burying dolls.
Bond complained there was no wet bar.
‘We were invited to tender for a contract,’ Penny said. ‘An advance was paid to cover our time for this meeting.’
‘That’s how we knew it was a trap,’ said Kate. ‘Rich people never pay up front. Or at all, if they can help it.’
‘I was summoned by my father,’ said the Daughter of the Dragon.
‘Isn’t he dead?’ Bond asked.
‘I certainly hope so.’
‘I came here to kill a man who traffics golden children,’ said Sonja Blaue.
They all looked at her.
‘I’m not a detective or a spy or a heroine,’ she said. ‘I don’t arrest anyone.’
‘We’re more into the “due process” side of things,’ said Kate.
‘Still, takes all sorts,’ said Penny, averting a flare-up. ‘I do like your jacket, Ms Blaue. Is that the original?’
In her poster, Sonja Blaue straddled a motorcycle while wearing only sunglasses and her jacket. Knife slashes and bullet holes were covered by masking tape patches. She’d put on boots, jeans and a Ska-tastics sweatshirt today.
Geneviève had wanted to see inside the mansion. She was always amused by what America took for old.
Kostaki kept quiet. He discreetly checked for possible exits.
‘This isn’t a lock with a key,’ he said, at the front door. ‘There’s a number pad and a question mark composed of eight luminous dots.’
‘Of course there is,’ said Kate. ‘So, an eight-figure code?’
‘It’ll be the date. 29-12-1999,’ said Penny.
Kostaki took off his Monk gauntlets.
‘12-29-1999,’ said Sonja Blaue. ‘This is America.’
Penny shrugged. ‘If you say so. Try that first, darling.’
Geneviève thought they’d only get one try. A wrong entry might set off explosives.
Kostaki punched in the eight-digit code.
The door opened, but not to the driveway they’d come in by.
‘Hey, how…?’ said Kate.
‘I know houses like this,’ said the Daughter. ‘I grew up in them. It’s one big Rubik’s cube. Didn’t you feel it shift?’
‘I thought it was the collywobbles,’ said Kate. ‘I had a night of it. Party season.’
Beyond the no-longer front door was a corridor with a black-and-white herringbone pattern floor. At the far end stood a seven-foot chess-piece, presenting a gaunt carved face. As they looked, it rolled through an arch.
‘That was your face,’ she said to Kostaki.
‘Want me to put a bullet in it?’ asked Bond. He whipped a Walther out of his sporran. ‘See if there’s anyone inside?’
‘Put that toy away,’ said Kate.
‘Not a gun fan,’ Penny explained.
‘Me neither,’ said Sonja Blaue, opening a switchblade.
A manic chuckle sounded. They turned away from the door. Someone new sat at the head of the table, face in shadow. Someone the size of a child.
Bond pointed his pistol at the swollen head.
An overhead light came on.
A Dracula sat on a high-chair. Patent leather hair, widow’s peak, Roman nose, vicious fangs. Order of the Dragon amulet, white shirt-front and tie, black cape folded to show rims of red lining. A hairy-backed hand lay on the table, with a D ring on one stubby, claw-nailed finger.
‘All right, Hamey, you can shoot it,’ said Kate.
The face was cracked across. One red eye – a marble – was awry in its ruptured socket.
Geneviève approached the ventriloquist’s dummy.
‘It’s a Broken Doll,’ she said.
Kate groaned. ‘I thought we’d heard the last of that.’
‘Let’s burn the place down,’ said Sonja Blaue. ‘I’m not into this Acme Coyote shit. Silver buzzsaws in the toilet seats. Fill in the blanks or be squirted with napalm. Wait for the Mole to stake you in the back.’
‘You’ve worked Doll cases too,’ Geneviève said.
‘Have I ever? Ask about Winnipeg. And Seattle.’
AI last played hide and seek with the Broken Doll in a sunken gambling ship off Catalina Island. Kate lost a receptionist-slash-boyfriend to that caper. Penny arranged with the Unnameables to have the wreck dynamited.
‘I’ve nothing against dolls,’ said Bond. ‘I’ve heard of the dear old things, of course. Foul, by all accounts.’
‘Careful, Commander,’ said Penny. ‘You sound like the Mole. There’s always one. The Broken Doll likes to play a Joker.’
‘Sometimes there isn’t,’ said Kate. ‘Then the seven turn on each other and take it out on innocents. Once, on Skerra Island, it was seven Moles – all thinking they were the only one. Fine sense of humour our lass has, if the Broken Doll’s still a lass. She was last time.’
… when the receptionist-slash-boyfriend had been the Doll’s inside renfield.
Bond prodded papier maché Drac with the nose of his gun.
The eyes burst out on springs and rolled across the table.
Puffs of garlic shot at the Commander’s face.
If he was the Mole, he was going to lengths to cover up. He was with the Diogenes Club. Not their best and brightest, but not the sort to defect. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be gulled or manipulated. The Broken Doll was aces at that.
‘How long till midnight?’ Penny asked. ‘Only I said I’d meet a friend for a New Year nip.’
Geneviève’s watch had stopped.
So had everyone else’s. The grandfather clock in the hall had a face but no hands.
Geneviève examined Bond. His eyes were puffy and a green tinge was spreading across his face. He wasn’t badly poisoned, though. Most of her recent patients were corpses, so he was ahead of the game.
‘I couldn’t half do with a drop of the warm stuff,’ he said, licking a slightly wonky fang.
The Daughter of the Dragon, the only non-vampire in the seven, didn’t even grace him with a look of disgust. Geneviève tried not to think she might be the Mole. She had done a great deal to live down a very poor upbringing.
‘Dammit, Penny, it’s you, isn’t it?’ said Kate.
‘Moi ?’ said Penny, hand clapped to her throat. ‘You wound me.’
Kate, the cleverest detective on their books, had known Penelope since childhood. Sometimes, Geneviève felt left out when they picked up old quarrels and revived them for weeks and weeks. It made her feel like a governess. Whenever anyone brought up England and Ireland, it was worth leaving the office for hours – though she usually came back to find the women laughing on the sofa, watching telenovelas on the portable TV that ought to be tuned to the news station.
Sonja Blaue broke a chair leg and whittled a stake.
‘Talk, sister,’ she said. Behind her sunglasses her eyes burned.
‘I admit I know a little more than I’ve let on,’ said Penny. ‘But I’m locked in the Ho-Ho Hacienda too. I have only the faintest trace of Her Moliness about me, don’t you think? Oh, please yourselves.’
Kate pursed her lips at this latest disappointment.
Usually, Geneviève assumed Penny meant no harm. Rarely, she was
badly wrong about that and a situation needed a lot of mending.
They might not have the time to sort things out here. If Sonja Blaue didn’t kill Penny – and Kate for perversely defending the friend she’d just exposed as a semi-Mole – then the Loren Home would give it a solid try. It was a museum of death traps.
Kostaki took the amulet from the creepy ventriloquist’s dummy.
‘There are numbers on it,’ he said.
‘It’s a Captain Midnight decoder dial,’ said Bond. ‘I had one as a nipper. Five box-tops and a shilling.’
‘Hang on to that,’ said Geneviève. ‘It’s bound to be important.’
Penny sat on a stool and sulked.
Geneviève would have to woo her round. She’d have an explanation.
Kate gingerly picked the dummy’s shirt-front apart and found another keypad and a question mark. Six luminous dots this time, for a six-figure code.
Suddenly, Penny’s designer jacket chirruped. Everyone stuck knuckles in their ears.
She had the most annoying ringtone and the most expensive phone.
‘You can get a signal here?’ asked Sonja Blaue, incredulous.
‘It’ll be from the Doll,’ said Kate. ‘Clues and gloating.’
Penny pulled out the sexy gadget and looked at a sliver of screen.
‘It’s not, though,’ she said. ‘I think it’s for you, Gené. It’s the Man From the Diogenes Club, calling from Japan. God, do you suppose he went to that ghastly woman’s party? He must be having a worse time than us.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ coughed Bond, his whole face green. His eyebrows curled like broccoli.
‘What does Richard Jeperson want?’ said Kate.
‘I imagine it’s to wish us a happy New Year,’ said Penny. ‘At least those of us no longer welcome in England.’
Penny handed the cell phone to Geneviève.
She put it to her ear. A whistling sounded, from a long way away.
‘The numbers are moving,’ said Kostaki. ‘I think I see a pattern.’
A voice, indistinct but recognisable sounded in her ear.
She’d spoken with Richard last week. About his trip to Tokyo.
Despite everything, she wanted to hear news of Christina Light. She had an interest in the Bund, though she’d never lived there.
‘Now it’s getting hot,’ said her fellow Macedonian, Kostaki.
Dracula wasn’t the only person with an enemies list.
The lights in the room weren’t dim any more. Bulbs burned like suns.
‘I say, Katie,’ said Bond. ‘You’re getting a tan. Doesn’t go with the ginger nob.’
‘Beast,’ she said, hands on her peeling face.
Geneviève tried to make out what Richard was saying.
‘Let me stop you there, Richard,’ she said. ‘We’re in a little bit of trouble here.’
Kostaki’s robe smoked. The varnish on the table bubbled.
‘The dial will give you the code,’ said Penny.
‘It’s got more than six numbers,’ said Kostaki.
‘So it’s giving you the code but not easily. Think. Arithmetic. Square roots. Whatever.’
The stars – and satellites – aligned and Richard’s voice became clear.
‘Geneviève,’ he said. ‘Happy New Century.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Before we catch up, can I ask a question?’
‘That already is a question.’
‘Quite right. How are you at number puzzles?’
‘A fair old hand. Nezumi’s here. Remember her? She’s top of the form.’
The others were looking at Geneviève. A ladylike bead of sweat ran down the cheek of the Daughter of the Dragon. Bond scratched his sash. Sonja Blaue’s leather jacket gave off a whiff of dead thing.
Kostaki was still frustrated with the amulet.
‘This thing is connected to the sun-lamps,’ said the Daughter of the Dragon.
Kate and Penny looked at Geneviève with hope and trust.
‘This must be the “phone-a-friend” option,’ said Kate.
When they weren’t laughing at Sombras Oscuras, she and Penny devoured quiz shows.
‘Have you got something to write on?’ Geneviève asked Richard. ‘I’m going to give you numbers.’
‘Fire away.’
Kostaki showed her the amulet and mouthed.
‘Two, three, five, seven, one, one…’
‘No, that’s eleven, not one-one.’
She saw he was right.
‘They’re primes,’ she said. ‘Thirteen, seventeen, nineteen…’
Sonja Blaue rolled up her stiff sleeve to show a tattoo. GHOST 29.
Kostaki did the same with his robe. GEIST 53.
No other volunteers. Geneviève knew Kate had a tattoo of a quill pen and an inkwell but it wasn’t on her arm.
‘We’ve a 29 and a 53. On a couple of arms. Does that lose you?’
Richard and someone – Nezumi – were talking. Geneviève heard street sounds. It was already 2000 in Tokyo. The party must be over.
Kate, prematurely, punched in 2953. The lamps didn’t dim.
‘Did you hear me? Two, nine, five, three? On tattoos. With the word GHOST or GEIST.’
‘Ninety-seven,’ said Richard.
‘Nine seven,’ Geneviève relayed.
Kate finished the code.
And the lamps went out.
Penny clapped. Bond said something offhand to cover relief.
The little coffins on the table all flipped open. In each was a delicate doll.
The nearest to her contained a Monk action figure.
Kostaki held a slim blonde plastic version of her.
They swapped.
Her doll had a script on its arm, where Kostaki and Sonja Blaue had tattoos. FANTOME 307.
Plugs popped out of the Vincent Price eyes of painted Loren ancestors. A swarm flooded through the sockets.
Mechanical wasps with silver-tip stingers.
Bond swore.
Penny squealed as half a dozen robot insects beset her beehive. Kate waved a magazine.
Metal pincers nipped Geneviève’s cheek. She brushed the gadgets off.
The Daughter of the Dragon found a keypad in her little coffin. Hidden under a china doll in her image. And a question mark with four dots.
A three-figure numeral. And a four-digit code.
‘Richard,’ she said, trying to ignore the deadly buzz. ‘I have another number puzzle.’
‘We’re all ears,’ said Richard. ‘Nezumi says she loves games. By the way, we’ve been to a marvellous party.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Though I hope all the books in the Anno Dracula series can be read as standalones, Anno Dracula 1999 Daikaiju completes the Christina Light trilogy, which was begun by Anno Dracula 1895 Seven Days in Mayhem (the comic book miniseries, collected by Titan) and Anno Dracula One Thousand Monsters. The previous novel ought to have been called Anno Dracula 1899 One Thousand Monsters, only there’s a short story collection titled Anno Dracula 1899 and being consistent would have scrambled the algorithms. Sorry.
I’d always known a trip to Japan was in order, which was why I gave Nezumi a build-up in ‘Vampire Romance’ and ‘Aquarius’ (in the Titan editions of The Bloody Red Baron and Dracula Cha Cha Cha). It wasn’t until I began reading nineteenth-century anarchist conspiracy novels as prep for Seven Days in Mayhem that I met Christina Light and realised she’d be a major player. She is the only character who appears in two Henry James novels, Roderick Hudson (1875) and The Princess Casamassima (1885-6). The Anno Dracula version was given a face by Paul McCaffrey, the excellent artist on Seven Days in Mayhem. Paul also draws the best Graf von Orlok.
At Titan, credit is due to editors Cath Trechman – true heroine of the Anno Dracula series – and Sophie Robinson, and comics editor David Leach. Plus Steve White, Bambos Georgiou, Kevin Enhart, Simon Bowland, Martin Stiff (for the cover designs), Lydia Gittins, Becky Peacock, Louise Pearce, Miranda Jewess, D
avi Lancett, and Vivian and Nick Landau. Thanks also to Wing Commander Steve Baxter, Prano Bailey-Bond, Nicolas Barbano, David Barraclough, Steve Bissette, Randy Broecker, Kat Brown, Eugene Byrne, Susan Byrne, Pat Cadigan (Queen of Cyberpunk), Robert Chandler, Simret Cheema-Innis, Nancy Collins, Neil Cross, Meg Davis, Alex Dunn, Dave Elsey, Barry Forshaw, Christopher Fowler, Christopher Frayling, Neil Gaiman, Lisa Gaye, Antony Harwood, Sean Hogan, Rod Jones, Stephen Jones, Grace Ker, Yung Kha, Juliet Landau, Tim Lucas, Katz Makihara, Paul McAuley, Maura McHugh, Helen Mullane, Bryan Newman, Jerome Newman, Julia Newman, Sasha Newman, Logan Parker, Russell Schechter, Jasper Sharp, Dean Skilton, Brian Smedley, Emily Smith, and Deverill Weekes.
I’ve drawn on more sources than I can list, but among the most useful books on my Daikaiju shelf are Brian Ashcraft and Shoko Ueda’s Japanese Schoolgirl Confidential (yes, wrinkled socks were a thing in the 1990s), Colette Balmain’s Introduction to Japanese Horror Film, Jason Barr’s The Kaiju Film: A Critical Study of Cinema’s Biggest Monsters, Jonathan Clements and Helen McCarthy’s The Anime Encyclopedia, Stuart Galbraith IV’s Japanese Fantasy, Science Fiction and Horror Films and Monsters Are Attacking Tokyo! The Incredible World of Japanese Fantasy and Horror Films, Jim Harper’s The Modern Japanese Horror Film, David Kalat’s A Critical History and Filmography of Toho’s Godzilla Series, Haruki Murakami’s Underground, Salvador Murguia’s The Encyclopedia of Japanese Horror Films, Edogawa Rampo’s The Early Cases of Akechi Kogoro and The Black Lizard/Beast in the Dark, Mark Schilling’s The Encyclopedia of Japanese Pop Culture, Brian Solomon’s Godzilla FAQ, William Tsutsui’s Godzilla On My Mind: Fifty Years of the King of Monsters. Online resources came in handy too – particularly the Yōkai Wiki at yokai.fandom.com/wiki/Yōkai_Wiki.
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS
ANNO DRACULA
It is 1888 and Queen Victoria has remarried, taking as her new consort the Wallachian Prince infamously known as Count Dracula. His polluted bloodline spreads through London as its citizens increasingly choose to become vampires.