Nosferatu

by Carl Sargent

  Niall let go of him, leaving Serrin white and shaking again.

  “It’s a trick,” he blustered. “You fragged with my mind. It’s not real. None of it is real!”

  “It was. Once you were her teacher. You felt it was wrong, a betrayal of your responsibilities. I think that is probably echoed in your being so much older this time; it has a similar inhibiting effect on you. Another time, she was taken into marriage against her will. It has always been difficult, but you have seen only two instances. She was hurt enough that she did not want to enter another cycle. Which is why she is human this time. It is a step backward on the Path for her spirit, but it was a price she was ready to pay for you both. This time, it is possible. You need not be apart this time. You have been given the chance to make it right.”

  “I don’t understand. What do I do now?” Serrin asked him.

  “Even if I knew, I could not tell you. It is not for me to walk another’s Path. But if you do not return something of the love she has for you, you will be making it even harder for yourself next time.” They walked back to the car in silence.

  Just before he opened the car’s rear door, Serrin said, “I can’t understand this. I just can’t get my head around it.”

  “Try forgetting your head,” Niall said simply, and climbed into the front seat. The car pulled off, moving slowly down the hillside into the morning.

  30

  Serrin finished his coffee and looked out at the Manhattan skyline. It had been so much to absorb, and though he felt like he might know how to get there, he also knew he hadn’t even started yet.

  They were visiting with Michael. “Told you Englishmen were bulletproof,” Michael joked. “I’m going to need a back support for some time, maybe for keeps, but everything’s in working order.”

  He had already arranged the flight to Sun City, anxious to be free of the hospital. While Serrin, Tom, and Kristen waited for him to be strong enough for the flight back home, they’d spent much of their time sleeping long hours at the hotel. The physical and emotional exhaustion of the ordeal had taken an enormous toll. The Irish elf had driven them back to Berlin and then vanished. Serrin never did get him to reveal his name, much less where he was going or what he intended to do. Perhaps it was true, as the Irish elf claimed, that it was better for Serrin not to know his name, but that didn’t change his fretting over being kept in the dark.

  Serrin was now almost broke. He’d virtually emptied his accounts in order to give it to the orks they'd met in the bar. They had left so many dead, after all. Knowing the orks would refuse blood money, the elf had talked about their families. About what they believed in, their policlub, their rights. Persuasive words had sent some of the money in the direction of relatives and some into education for their children. Frag it, it’s only money, Serrin had thought at the time. With only a few thousand still in his account, maybe he’d have to start looking for gainful employment as a corporate mage again. It didn’t matter. He had to give them the money.

  The situation with Kristen was the one he didn’t know how to right. Though he’d tried to explain what the elf had revealed to him, she couldn’t seem to grasp it even though Serrin was sure she believed him. That didn’t surprise the elf. What had he ever really known about himself before being shown those deep, ancient memories? And yet it was still troubling. He was partly fascinated, desperate to know the who and why and where of it all, and partly repelled, not wanting to confront it. In some ways all this made him even more uncertain about how to behave with her. Michael, gently, tried to tell him that she was growing restless and unhappy, as though Serrin couldn’t see that for himself.

  He remembered Magellan’s words about taking better care of the world when you know you’re coming back. But for Magellan it had ended in obsession to the point of madness, an unshakable belief in an ever-returning master elven race whose destiny made them special. Serrin didn’t want to be vulnerable to such delusions.

  And then there was Tom, who was gradually returning to some semblance of normality, but spent more time lost in his own bliss, perhaps in profound contemplation of his new self. Serrin guessed that every time the troll moved, he must feel the wonder of it all. Every muscle movement would be a miracle to him. He was glad for Tom, truly glad, but where did all this leave him?

  The elf, whose name he’d never know, had been the one to destroy Luther. It was true he’d said that the only way in was through Tom, but Serrin somehow couldn’t get an emotional fix on that. But, one way or the other, they had left a long trail of corpses behind him and he didn’t think he’d ever get over the horror and impotence of those final moments.

  There was something else bothering him, too. Something intangible, amorphous, half-sensed or half-glimpsed, something that he couldn’t really remember but which nagged at him, leaving him restless, tossing and turning in bed at night. It was as frustrating as if he’d forgotten his own name. He was stirring the dregs of his coffee, staring mournfully at the cold liquid, when it came back to him.

  Locally, things are at a more advanced stage, of course.

  It wasn’t that one of those metal boxes had yet to be filled. No, the container had already been emptied. Not everything was still there for Mathanas to destroy.

  What had actually happened?

  He hadn’t heard news of any outbreak of zombie syndrome in Germany. So what did that mean, “locally”? Was someone else still sitting on the rest of the stuff?

  No, that’s impossible, Serrin thought. Isn’t it?

  Time for another trip to the library, whose computer systems were better set up to handle multiple searches than any home rig. First, he scoured the German media of the past week, then went through everything on retroviruses. He couldn’t understand much of the technical stuff, but if he could turn up even a single lead—anything—something he might be able to take back to Michael . . .

  It was after ten that night when he paid for the printed abstracts, preferring hardcopy to a disk, and walked out into the night, lighting a cigarette as he went. Maybe I should look Julia up again, he thought. Maybe there’s some other madman involved. What if Luther had already shipped some of that damned virus to another bloodsucker who also happened to be around? Hell, he didn’t have the time to check on everyone, or everything, to which Luther might have had connections. I’ve got to talk to Julia, Serrin thought. See if we can’t get through to that chummer of hers one last time; she might breathe easier about talking now that Luther is dead.

  Julia wasn’t home when he arrived by cab, which he kept waiting in that very event. He climbed back in and directed the cabbie to a downtown bar. The gnawing fear wouldn’t stop, so he decided to try drinking it into submission.

  He left the bar at two o’clock, unable to get drunk on the indifferent beer, and unwilling to pursue the comfort of something stronger. He waited in the damp street for a cab, poring over the printouts in the dull streetlight. This time, there wasn’t even a tardy warning from his spell lock as the car pulled slowly round the corner. The masking was far, far too good for that. The gun was at his back as the car drew to a halt alongside him.

  “Get in,” came a voice as the rear door of the car opened. Something about the voice was familiar. Knowing he had no choice, Serrin climbed in.

  “I think you should take a drink of this,” the elf sitting beside him said.

  “This is where I came in,” Serrin said wearily and swallowed the sedative cocktail.

  * * *

  It wasn’t Magellan, of course. Luther had pretty much destroyed what was left of him. The voice had sounded familiar because of the Irish brogue, but it wasn’t the mystery elf either. When Serrin was shaken into wakefulness, he found himself sitting on a chair in a pool of light, an elf shrouded in the darkness beyond it. Flanking him were two other elves, with an air about them more sinister than Serrin had ever seen.

  The berets and shades were obligatory, of course, but it was the weaponry that looked like nothing on earth. The weird
ly fluted and shaped pistols perfectly fitted the hands holding them, and rifles even more distorted and bizarre stood against the wall at their sides. In the darkness he couldn’t make out any details. Magic and power screamed from the figures in opposition to him. If the standing elves were samurai, they were of a kind Serrin could never have imagined. The power they radiated as tangibly as body heat to an IR scanner wasn’t that of mere physical adepts. These were beings of raw power and force. They never moved a muscle.

  “I do not think we will need to dispose of you if we can get our answers,” the central elf said. “We only want to know what you have been up to. First, tell me what made you spend nearly ten hours checking out retroviruses in the library? What sudden inspiration gave you that idea?”

  Serrin hesitated, trying to think up a plausible lie.

  “If you lie to me, I will know it,” his interrogator said.

  I don’t think I want to test the truth of that, Serrin thought glumly. Better take it on faith.

  “I remembered something. I remembered that some of the virus Luther had made wasn’t there. In his laboratory. I wondered what could have happened to it. I don’t know much about retroviruses. I wondered if it might still be about. Latent, maybe, I don’t know.”

  “Yes,” the elf said. “And why go to the woman? The journalist?”

  “To find out if there might have been any local connections to Luther. Someone who might have the rest of it. It was only a hunch; she had a friend who knew something about him.”

  “Fine. However, I think it would be an extraordinarily good idea if you stopped asking any more questions about this,” the elf replied. Safety catches clicked. “Can I trust you to do that?”

  “But if this thing is still out there ..

  “It isn’t. We have taken care of that. Actually, you are quite correct. He had released an air dispersion just before you and your friends arrived. We countered with an anti-viral sprayed from our aircraft. A few farmers in rural Bavaria are a bit stupider than they used to be, but not so you’d notice. The virus has been totally contained. Oh, your ladyfriend was rather fortunate in getting away without being affected, but then maybe she’s entitled to some good luck.”

  “But, medical tests .. .”

  “If any are made, all that will turn up are antibodies to something strange, nothing more.”

  “But Luther said the retrovirus gets into the germ line!”

  “He was wrong.” The voice was final.

  “But you can’t know that. Spirits, he .. .”

  “I tell you he was wrong!” The voice was angry and commanding. “Look, the reason I know is because the created genes he fused into the virus came from what we gave him. They came from the research facility in Azania. And the only reason I’m telling you is because otherwise you’d probably have Sutherland chasing down the suppliers of certain flora to that place, and we would prefer that you simply forget that any of this ever happened from now on. Luther’s scheme might have worked, just maybe, but fortunately it did not. He was wrong, but his obsession blinded him. It only worked in theory—his in vitro tests were successful—but he neglected the most crucial test of all. He never tested his virus on living humans.”

  “Then what were those zombies in Azania?”

  “Look, you fool, the agent worked perfectly well for neural damage. But he didn’t dissect the specimens as he should have, nor did he conduct the proper tests on germ cells. His lab findings told him the germ-line penetration would take some months, and he didn’t want to wait that long. He was wrong.”

  “Then all this has been for nothing,” Serrin said disbelievingly. “It was a chimera.”

  “Not from my point of view,” the Irish elf said tartly. “I know where Niall is now. Luther’s scheme flushed him out for me.”

  Niall. That must be the elf who’d come with the powerful spirit to destroy Luther and his monastery, though Serrin wished this wasn’t how he was to learn his name.

  “And now I can dispose of Niall. I also now know the attitudes of certain parties among other elven powers toward such a development. That is useful knowledge to me as well,” the elf added.

  “So, actually, I am not badly disposed toward you. Luther had become a burden to us in some ways. He had failed. Your destruction of his establishment left no evidence for anyone to trace back to us. And we never had to become directly involved ourselves. Except for sending in our aircraft, of course, but that cannot be analyzed after the fact. We did a little extra mopping-up of the local wildlife, but that, too, has been disguised. No, we will call this one a dry run and chalk up the good points. One renegade we can dispose of and one or two people we might talk to. Thus do we live and learn.”

  The elf rose to his feet, for an instant allowing his masking to drop.

  Serrin was almost blinded. He was brilliant, this one; all the stars of heaven seemed to shine around him, satellites to the power of his being. This elf could crush him like a bug without so much as raising a finger, and Serrin knew it. This was a magician who could call on powers that would make even Mathanas seem puny in comparison.

  “You will talk no more of this. No more inquiries, please. Should any of it become public it will warn people who I wish to flush out in private. Actually, it’s a bit of hard luck in your case; our surveillance was coming to an end. We thought you had decided to retire to a quiet, simple life. We were due home this morning until Padraic here assensed you burrowing away in the library.”

  “What will you do with me?” Serrin asked.

  “Do? Nothing. There is no need. You know now, and perhaps that is a consolation to you in some ways. But we will continue to watch you from a distance. Obviously, I’ve taken a little of your blood. If you should cause any problems, we always have ritual sorcery for disposing of you in a variety of thoroughly unpleasant ways.”

  Serrin didn’t doubt that for a moment. Game, set and match.

  “One last thing,” he said to the elf before turning to leave the room. “Luther did have something that worked in its own way. It wouldn’t have done the whole job, but was still highly dangerous. Has it been destroyed?”

  What was in his mind was that Luther might have gone only halfway. He had no idea whether the elf talking to him here would have wanted to see it go all the way. The other elf had spoken of the “we” who had supplied Luther. Had they wanted to succeed? Had they deliberately helped him because they wanted to keep tabs on what he was doing, but otherwise been opposed to him? Had it all been a stalking horse to flush out friends and foes, a scheme they had always known could never work?

  The elf bowed slightly and smiled at him. “I will let you think about that,” he said. “But as I say, do no more than that. Otherwise . . He drew a line across his throat with his finger. “Not to mention the girl. Maybe you would risk your own life. But you wouldn't want to even contemplate what we could do to her. Then deliver what was left to you.”

  Serrin wanted to hate him, but all he could muster was a wretched, cornered, bleak feeling of resentment.

  “There’s also the troll, of course. Niall’s spirit healed him. If he knew the truth, that he never destroyed anything worth the time of day, that his savior”—the elf grinned a little at the words—“was about to meet a rather unpleasant end, it could ruin his day. You would not want to do that, would you?

  “But Niall was right. You do have a chance with the woman this time. If you don’t throw it away, you might even come to understand. In the long run.” The elf came forward, into the light, and touched Serrin’s head. He felt nothing, and just gazed up at him. The other elf had an eerie beauty, a face both androgynous and sexless, golden hair tied back, violet eyes revealing nothing, longfingered hands with almost translucent skin.

  “Take him away.” The elf was gone, leaving only the two assassins to escort Serrin, blindfolded, up the stairs and into the car again.

  * * *

  He scrabbled for the spare key Michael had given him. It was nearly five in
the morning and he felt completely gutted, entirely empty. He knew the truth about Luther, but the truth behind that was buried in a shroud of secrecy and deception. I have nothing, he thought. It’s all dust and ashes. And I can’t talk about it. Not least for Tom’s sake.

  He opened the door quietly, his hand searching for the light switch. A glowing yellow line below one of the other doors became a shaft of light into the room as Kristen opened the door. She stood in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning against the frame and looking at him. The Silk shirt reached halfway to her knees, and she stood bare-legged, something close to despair on her face.

  Serrin felt something on his own face where the elf had touched him, and instantly he was somewhere else. Far distant, on the other side of the Atlantic, centuries away, and he had just learned that she was lost to him, sold by her father into marriage with a hateful and brutal right, and the pain of it ripped through his heart and guts. He had to clutch at the door to remain standing.

  Then he was simply himself again, looking at her.

  Now I’m on the verge of throwing away what I would once have killed for. Frag it all. Luther. Magellan. Whoever has condemned me to wonder about all this drek. All the loose ends; I never did find the scarred man, though maybe he ended up just another nameless body somewhere in that charnel house at Schwandorf. I’ll never know. And frag running from one place to the next, hanging around for only a week or a month or a season, then packing up the same suitcase with the same handful of things, all just so I can keep on with the same old running and moving and running just for something to do. Yes, I’m twice her age. I’m an elf, she’s human. So what? It just means we’ll grow old at about the same pace.