Aftertaste

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The villagers gathered around, wide eyed and slack jawed. Prayers were muttered and weary hands patted Van Helsing’s ancient shoulders. There were offers of dinner and drink, but like always, the aging vampire hunter said he had to be on his way, that the Prince of Darkness’s ashes had to be scattered into a running body of water before sunrise to make sure that he would not plague the fine folk of Bistritz ever again. They were insistent that he take some form of payment and within minutes had scraped together enough money to last a man as humble in living as himself a year.

  The corpse was loaded on his wagon and he set out alone, as he told them the ritual dictated.

  Three miles outside of town, he ripped the stake from Dracula’s ribs.

  “What’d we get?” The Lord of the Undead rubbed the ragged wound in his chest. It quickly knitted itself together.

  “Not much.” Abraham unwrapped a turkey sandwich and took a giant bite. Crumbs dotted his beard and a string of meat hung from his lip.

  Dracula rifled through the coins and jewelry. “Almost not even worth it. When did people get so . . . so . . .”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  “You were gonna make some Jewish crack, weren’t you?”

  He slid from the wagon and made a show of stretching his back.

  “Dracula?”

  “No. I wasn’t. And please, how many times have I asked you not to talk with your mouth full? It’s disgusting.”

  “This from the guy who sleeps in earth and drinks blood.”

  The moon rinsed Dracula’s pale skin in gray light. He stared out into the dark woods, watching the trees sway in the wind. “Why do we do it?”

  Abraham shrugged. “What else are we gonna do?”

  “It’s just that people have gotten so—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “I was going to say jaded. No one believes anymore except the rubes. And what do they have to pay us with? A couple of knickknacks passed down from their serf grandparents and a week’s worth of beer money?” He ripped the cape off and slammed it into the ground. “And I hate this fucking thing. Have I ever told you that? Why can’t I just wear a nice suit? I hear tweed’s in.”

  “I know. The cape is uncomfortable. But people expect it.”

  Dracula sighed. “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Look, if it makes you feel better, you can take my share. I’ve still got some money saved up from that mess at the Borgo Pass in March.”

  He turned and smiled at his partner, fangs glistening. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  Van Helsing patted the seat next to him. “We should get going, just in case those bastards decide to wave some torches this way.”

  In the blink of an eye, Dracula was next to him. Van Helsing gripped the reins, the horses snorted, and soon they were on their way again, rocking down the dusty Transylvanian road.

  Abraham picked a piece of turkey from his beard and slurped it down. “You were supposed to say no.”

  “Huh?”

  “When I offered you my money. You were supposed to say no.”

  “Then why did you offer it to me?”

  “Because that’s what I was supposed to do. I offer, you decline. It’s etiquette.”

  “It’s stupid is what it is.”

  They were quiet for a long while. “What would you do, anyway?”

  Dracula shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s just got to be something more than pulling these Gypsy scams—”

  “Roma.”

  “What?”

  “They’re called Roma. ‘Gypsy’ is derogatory.”

  “Whatever. My point is that I used to command armies. I defended Christendom from the Turks. Can I say ‘Turks’?”

  “You can say ‘Turks.’”

  “I was a goddamned legend, Abe. Have you ever led an army into battle?”

  “Mein gott. Always with that ‘I commanded legions’ shit. Let it go. It’s in the past. You got to look at the now.”

  Dracula shook his head. “I’d rather look at the future.”

  “Which is what I’m doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Abraham Van Helsing smiled. “You’ll see.”

  They reached the ruins of Poenarri Castle before dawn. Dracula dug his way into the dirt in the basement. The next night when he pulled himself free, he almost regretted doing so. How nice it would be to just crawl into the ground here and hide away for centuries.

  Laughter drifted down from somewhere above him. He climbed the stairs into what was once the dining room. A fire burned in the giant stone pit. Abraham sat at the long, oak table, drinking wine straight from the bottle. A young man sat across from him, wearing a tweed suit and glasses.

  “Ah! And here he is!” Van Helsing smiled.

  Dracula approached the table. The young man stood and extended a hand.

  “This is my friend Renny. I used to run numbers with his father in Berlin.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” the young man said, his German heavily accented.

  “Ahem. Can we talk?” Dracula nodded toward the corner.

  Abraham rolled his eyes. “Renny, finish that wine off. I’ll be right back and we’ll open another.”

  They walked into the corner. Dracula ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. “What are you doing?”

  “What?”

  “We can barely get by with just the two of us. You wanna bring a third person in?”

  “It’s not like that. Just hear him out.”

  “This is just like Athens.”

  Van Helsing crossed his arms. “We agreed never to bring that up.”

  “Well, what do you expect? You do the same damn thing again, I’m gonna bring it up.”

  His face turned red. “You know that what happened in Athens was not my fault. That fucking fisherman was supposed to be experienced. Lawrence said he could crack a safe. He swore he could.”

  “And Lawrence is never wrong.”

  “Is this about Lawrence?”

  Dracula kicked a pebble across the floor. “No.”

  “Then what’s it about? Huh? Because it sure as hell isn’t about Renny, either.”

  Dracula was silent.

  “You need to screw your head on straight. Undead or not, you gotta figure out your priorities. You wanna talk about Athens? Well, what about Istanbul?”

  “Constantinople.”

  “Whatever. You and that cleric’s daughter?”

  Even though he fought it, a smile crept onto Dracula’s mouth. “What a summer . . .”

  “Yeah, for you. You almost got me castrated. I tell ya, man, a woman is gonna be your downfall someday.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Now, can we sit down and talk about this or what?”

  “He just rubs me the wrong way. It’s a . . .”

  “A what?”

  Dracula shrugged. “A vibe. Just a weird vibe.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “And he’s wearing fucking tweed. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

  “How was I supposed to know what he was going to wear?”

  “I told you it was in right now.”

  Abraham grabbed his shoulder. “Just do me a favor. Come over here, listen for a few minutes, and if you don’t like what he has to say, you can bleed him dry and we’ll leave him in a ditch somewhere. Okay?”

  “Promise?”

  “Hell, skull-fuck him for all I care.”

  “Don’t be crass, Abe.”

  He smiled. “It’s the wine. You know how I am after a few drinks.”

  Dracula glanced toward the table. “I do like that jacket.”

  They walked back over and sat.

  “So, Renny was telling me about something pretty damn interesting he heard.”

  The young man smiled. “First off, it’s fucking tits to meet you. I’m a big fan. Read that story of Lord Byron’s three or four times. Great stuff.”

  Dracula rubbed his temples. He felt a headach
e coming on. “That story was actually written by Dr. John Polidori and it had nothing to do with me.”

  Abraham laughed. “Renny, tell him about London.”

  “Oh. Right. Anyway, just came from London—born and raised there, a true servant of Her Majesty I am—and I was talking to some solicitors I was fleecing. Had this real good operation going, where they thought I was a doctor from the States and—”

  Van Helsing cleared his throat.

  Renny nodded. “Sorry. Tongue gets away from me sometimes. Like Mama always says, if my brains were as quick as my mouth I could get somewhere. Always made me laugh. Little insulting, too, though, when you think about—”

  “Renny.”

  “Anyway, they was telling me about how they all wished they was rich, saying that real estate was the way to go. So one of them, fat little fella by the name of Worthington or Wellington or some such, one of these silver-spoon-up-his-arse types, starts blathering about how property’s at a premium now, on account of how crowded everything is, and how that’s a shame because there’s all these broken-down abbeys and tenements and what have you—”

  Dracula leaned over the table. “You have about fifteen seconds to get to the goddamned point before I eat your heart.”

  “Keep your knickers on, Impaler. Point is this: the Crown will subsidize work on these places for anyone what moves in. Now, there’s this other law that they was talking about, about how if you fix up one of these shit holes you can sell it to the Crown before your loan is paid off, as you’re doing queen and country good by improving the view or some such cack like that.”

  Dracula shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  Van Helsing laughed. “It’s simple. We buy up a bunch of property around town, just throwing a token down payment at them. We do a quick job, new coat of paint and what have you, and sell them off. Then we skip town before the creditors come after us on what we owe and voilà! We’re rich!”

  Dracula leaned back in his chair. “And the government pays for the work.”

  “For some of it, yeah,” Renny said. “The rest of it we’d have to pay for ourselves.”

  “Well, that kills it then. We don’t have enough money to repair properties like that.”

  Van Helsing laughed. “But that’s what’s great about it. Remember when I pawned myself off as a doctor?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, one of my ‘pupils,’ Dr. Seward, has kept in touch with me ever since. And, in addition to running a mental institution, he freelances on the side as . . . as . . .”

  “As what?”

  “Guess.”

  “I hate guessing.”

  “C’mon.”

  “He’s the guy what signs off on the renovations,” Renny blurted out.

  Dracula folded his arms and pouted.

  “Renny . . .”

  “Sorry, Abe. He said he hates guessing.”

  Abraham nudged him. “C’mon, buddy. This could be it. The big payday that you’ve been waiting for. You could start all over. What do you say?”

  Dracula stared across the table at Renny. The young man fidgeted in his tweed suit.

  “Listen,” Van Helsing said. “I’ve got it all worked out. We pawn you off as some duke or something—”

  “I was a prince.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know what you were, but nobody cares about some bloodthirsty Wallachian from the fifteenth century. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

  Dracula stood and stomped off.

  “Shit. I’m sorry, Renny. He’s touchy. Wait here a minute.” Van Helsing went after him. “Hey, buddy, I’m sorry about that. You were a great ruler. Phenomenal. Really, you were.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “Look at me.” Abraham spun the vampire around to face him. He gripped Dracula’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. “I’m not just saying that. That shit you pulled where you impaled a whole forest of people? Fucking genius.”

  “It was a novel approach, wasn’t it?”

  “It was thinking outside of the box. That’s exactly what it was and exactly why we need you on this.” He glanced back at Renny. The young man waved. “Look, it sucks that nobody remembers your war for Christendom. It does and I’m sorry. But if you started calling yourself Prince Vlad people would get suspicious. I mean, how often do you meet a prince, right? But Duke Dracula? Nobody will even bat an eye. You’re suave, debonair. Maybe you’re not so handsome anymore—”

  “Hey!”

  “—but you have that certain royal charm, ya know? And if people think you’re a duke . . .”

  Dracula smiled. “Then no one will suspect that I don’t actually have the money to renovate these places.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But do we have to use him?”

  “He’s perfect. Listen. He goes back to London, pretends to be a loon, and gets locked up in Seward’s care. He does this trick where he eats bugs—”

  “Gross. How is that a trick if he actually eats them?”

  Abraham thought about this for a long while. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “That’s just what he calls it. But, point is, Seward will get so wrapped up in this new psychosis that he’s just discovered in Renny that he won’t have the time to actually check these places out. And, just in case he gets suspicious, his old mentor will start writing him again and maybe suggest a visit in the near future.”

  “I don’t know. It’s all a little iffy. Take crackerjack timing.”

  “We’ll have to be on top of our game. But, hell, the gamble’s worth it. We could make enough money to be set for life. Well, my life. You’ll be good for another hundred years or so.”

  “That would be nice. I’ve always thought about meeting a girl, ya know? Settling down . . .”

  “You big softy. Ya know, Renny’s got these three sisters coming out to meet him.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Single?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Dracula laughed. “All right. I’m in. Let’s do it.”

  “Good. Now let’s work out the plan.”

  As they walked back over to the table, Dracula paused. “One thing.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t like ‘Duke Dracula.’”

  “It’s the alliteration, isn’t it? I knew that would bug you. What are you thinking?”

  “How about ‘count’?”

  Van Helsing considered it. “I like it. Has kind of a mysterious quality to it. Count Dracula.”

  “All right. So that Harker guy will be here tonight to sign the deal. You know the plan?” Van Helsing adjusted the cape on Dracula’s shoulders.

  “Yeah. I got it. I’ll meet him at the pass, bring him back here, and scare the shit out of him so that the last thing he’s thinking of is castle flipping and real estate fraud.”

  “Exactly. Let the girls have some fun with him too. He’d like that.”

  “Do I have to wear this cape?”

  “We’ve been over this.”

  “But that tweed hugs my shoulders so nicely.”

  Van Helsing shook his head. “And makes you look like an accountant. You’re regal. It’s what people expect.”

  “And you?”

  He picked up his suitcase and patted it. “I’ve got my part to play. One way or another, I’ll weasel into this, don’t you worry.”

  “When will I hear from you?”

  “When the time is right.” Van Helsing dusted his hat off and placed it on his head.

  “Abe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to thank you for this. I was really at the end of my rope, ya know? But now there’s . . .”

  “What?”

  “Hope.” He laughed. “That sounds a little queer, doesn’t it?”

  Abraham punched his shoulder. “Homosexual. You’ve got to get that under control. You’re gonna be in London soon. It isn’t the Land Beyond the Forest, man. They don’t take to that shit.” They shared
a smile. “Actually, a little hope sounds great.” He walked to the door. “Just do your thing and this time next year we’ll be sitting pretty, sunning on a beach in Italy. Well, you won’t be sunning, but still . . .”

  “I get it.”

  Van Helsing opened the door.

  “What if something goes wrong?”

  The aging con man laughed. “What could possibly go wrong?”

  The Four Horsemen Reunion Tour: An Apocumentary

  LUCIEN SOULBAN

  Interviewer: How did you all meet?

  Famine: Death, he was always around, right? The Alpha—

  War: And the Omega. Death brought us together.

  Famine: Well, him and me.

  Pestilence: I joined the lads after. War came last.

  Interviewer: Why “the Four Horsemen”? Why not just “Horsemen”?

  Pestilence: It was a statement. One for all and all for one.

  War: Like that Zorro fellow.

  Pestilence: You mean Three Musketeers.

  War: No. There were only three of them.

  Famine: And how many Zorros do you see running around, carving their initials in people?

  War: There was Douglas Fairbanks and Antonio Banderas, um, George Turner—

  Pestilence: George Hamilton.

  War: Right, George Hamilton played the poofter.

  Interviewer: Why a reunion now? What changed?

  Pestilence: When we heard they were paving over Megiddo to build Israel’s first Walmart, we figured it was time.

  Famine: We decided to reunite the band for our farewell tour and we wanted to put on a show that’d knock everyone dead.

  The hotel lobby is meant to be grand, an attempt to effect majesty with oak paneling, Victorian wreath friezes, Persian rugs, leather settees, and more plants than a Brazilian rain forest, though that part isn’t too hard these days. The camera swings around and blurs everything in its sweep; in fact, the hotel looks like someone has loaded a bordello into a shotgun and opened fire indiscriminately.

  Beyond the revolving doors, the lightning pitches and thunders, the rain heavy with meaty splats and panicked croaking. Then again, frogs know they aren’t aerodynamic and, one could argue, have every right to panic as they tumble from the skies.