Victor Gischler - Vampire A Go-Go

As he pissed, he glanced around the small bathroom. There had to be a way out of there. If he could cut himself loose, he might simply dash past them.

“Hurry up in there,” called Clover.

Something. A nail file. Anything would do. Maybe he could chew through the tape.

He finished, zipped, and flushed.

He hopped back into the other room, flopped into the easy chair again.

“Feel better?” Clover asked.

“I’d feel better if you’d cut me loose and let me out of here.”

“Tough shit.”

Yeah.

“Why are you doing this?” Allen asked. “I just want to go home. I don’t care what you people are doing.”

“Well, you should care, man. That’s the whole reason I’m hooked up with this outfit, right? Usually I’m kind of a loner.”

“Really? Someone with your social skills?”

Clover went on like she hadn’t heard him. “You might not care what’s happening in the world, but a lot of us do. A lot of us want to do the right thing. Politics and world leaders and the United Nations and all that bullshit. That’s nothing. Window dressing. If you knew the real forces tugging at the fabric of the universe, you’d shit your pants, man. So I do care, okay? I’m part of something bigger than myself, and I’ve never had that feeling before in my life and I’m not giving it up, okay? I’m one of the good guys, and what I do matters .”

“That’s a good speech. You rehearse that in front of a mirror?”

“You’re kind of a smart-ass motherfucker, aren’t you?”

“Spend enough time in duct tape, and the courtesy goes out the window.”

“Yeah, well, we need you to stay put,” Clover said. “If the bosses say you’re valuable, then that’s good enough for me.”

“I’m flattered, but how could I possibly be valuable?”

“Standard Society MO,” Clover said. “Get a guy on the inside. You’re in with the Evergreens, and they’re key to all this shit that’s coming down.”

“I really don’t know anything about that.”

“What you don’t know could fill a fucking barn, dude.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Allen said. “I’ll stop being a smart-ass if you stop being a bitch.”

“No, I’ll make you a deal. You shut the fuck up and I won’t put out cigarettes on your scrotum.”

The heavy door to the chamber swung open, and Amy rushed inside, flushed and panting. “We’ve got to go.”

Clover leaped to her feet. “What is it?”

“They’re coming.”

“Shit.” Clover grabbed a black backpack, started shoving in her possessions. “How many?”

“It wasn’t clear,” Amy said. “I think something’s obscuring the magic. We’ve got to get out of here and then spread the word. This location is over. Nobody can come back here.”

Clover slung the backpack over her shoulder, motioned at Allen with her chin. “What about him?”

“We’ve got to scatter. He’ll come with me.”

“Bullshit.”

Amy spun, met Clover’s hard gaze. “I said he comes with me.”

Clover stepped back, nodded. “Okay.”

Amy bent over Allen, touched his cheek softly. “The priests are on their way. You’ve got to trust me.”

“Okay,” Allen said.

She produced a switchblade, flicked it open in front of Allen’s face. He flinched. She cut him out of the duct tape, then put the knife away. He rubbed the circulation back into his wrists.

“Clover, go out the front. Maybe you can lead them down the hill. They have a car, so stay off the road. You know the footpaths better than they do. Be well, sister.”

“The Lady be with you, sister,” Clover said.

They kissed quickly, brief and ceremonial.

Clover left.

“Come on.” Amy took Allen by the hand, led him to another tunnel. No lights. Amy flicked on a flashlight. They jogged, the tunnel angled steadily downhill.

“Are we going deeper underground?” Allen asked.

“No. This leads to the bottom of the hill.”

They jogged for three minutes, then slowed to a fast walk. The tunnel was narrow and dry, the floor covered with dust. The passage had clearly not been used in years.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“Theoretically,” Amy said.

At last they came to a rusty iron ladder leading upward. They climbed, came up against a heavy metal manhole cover. Amy shoved against it without luck. “Help me.”

“Move. Let me try.”

They traded places on the ladder, and Allen heaved himself against the manhole cover. Just at the point he thought he might rupture himself, the lid lifted and he moved it to one side, spilling fresh air and weak daylight into the tunnel. He climbed out, sat panting on a cement slab surrounded by bushes. It was just daybreak. Amy climbed out behind him.

Allen glanced around. They were behind some building, a walking path visible through the bushes. “Where are we?”

“Bottom of Zizkov Hill, I think. The other side of where we climbed up.”

A strange tour of Prague, Allen thought. He’d been all over the place and hadn’t seen a damn thing.

Allen followed her around the corner of the building and came face-to-face with a large tank, the gun barrel aimed right at his nose.

“The military museum,” Amy said. “Yes, this is where I thought we were.”

Of course. Allen was losing his mind. The tank was old, a museum piece that clearly hadn’t budged in decades.

“We need to get out of sight,” Amy said. “We can head toward City Hall and blend in with the tourists, but we’ll eventually need to lay low someplace, and I don’t know which of the safe houses have been compromised.”

Allen thought about it a moment, then said, “Follow me. I think I know a place.”

Do you remember what Clover said about the MO of the Society, how they like to have a spy on the inside? She’s right. Even hundreds of years ago. Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

“Stop wiggling, little worm, or I’ll conk you one on the noggin.” British. Strong Yorkshire accent.

Edward Kelley stopped wiggling, let them carry him into the pitch black. Three minutes later, they set him gently on the rough cavern floor, the hand still over his mouth.

“How about a light, Edgar?” Another voice in English but a light Czech accent.

“Righto.”

A spark and a flash. The man kneeling over him held a candle. A narrow passage, looked like a natural cavern. The man above him had an enormous brown beard, wore a dark green cloak with the hood up, black clothing beneath. Ruddy, full cheeks. A big man, broad through the chest.

The man behind him said, “I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth. Let’s keep it quiet, eh?”

Kelley nodded.

The man with the Czech accent took his hand away, and Kelley turned to look at him. Bald. Gray beard. Big, alert eyes.

“We’ve been watching you, Edward Kelley.”

Kelley smiled weakly. “How flattering.”

“Let me show you something.” The Yorkshireman-Edgar-handed the candle to the Czech. He rolled up his sleeve, showed a tattoo on his upper arm to Kelley. “Do you recognize that?”

Kelley squinted at the tattoo, immediately recognizing the square and compass formed into the shape of a quadrilateral. “Freemasons.”

“Look closer.”

Kelley leaned in to examine the tattoo in the dim candlelight. In the dead center of the quadrilateral was the sign of the pentagram. Kelley resisted the urge to genuflect.

“The square represents matter, the solid known tangible things of our world,” Edgar said as he rolled his sleeve down again. “The compass stands for the spirit or mind.”

“And the pentagram stands for evil,” Kelley said.