Victor Gischler - Vampire A Go-Go

A second later the door opened and Amy slipped inside, shutting the door quickly behind her. “Nobody saw me.”

The towel barely contained her. Amy’s blond hair hung past her shoulders, a tight bundle from wringing it out. The smell of wet, freshly shampooed girl made things stir beneath Allen’s own towel. He turned away, his cheeks going pink.

“We can’t stay long,” Amy said. “They’ll think to look here sooner or later.” She tossed her pink outfit onto the floor underneath the bunk bed. “And I’ll need some clothes.”

“I’m not sure what I have that will fit you,” he replied, spilling the contents of the duffel onto the top bunk and sorting through the wrinkled, hastily packed clothing.

“We’ll make it work.” She stood right next to him and began to pick through the clothes.

Her bare shoulder brushed against his chest. It was so warm and soft that Allen thought he might faint. He moved away from her before he embarrassed himself. This was no time to be thinking of her tan skin and her red lips and how easily that towel could fall to the floor, revealing her ripe-

Stop it. Think of baseball .

Allen knew nothing of baseball.

Then think of Emily Brontë .

Somehow that was worse.

“I like that.” Amy pointed at his chest.

Really? Allen had never considered himself a spectacular physical specimen. His chest was flat and hairless. He was, overall, a skinny, pale, and nerdy individual. Maybe Amy liked that sort of thing. Maybe she was a Ben Folds fan.

She reached out and took the crucifix in her hand, her fingers brushing against his chest where the cross dangled from the chain. “It’s smart to wear it.”

Allen shivered at the slight contact. He was making a tent in front of his towel. He turned away, and the crucifix slipped from Amy’s hand. He sat on the bottom bunk, his back to her. “What’s that on your shoulder?” he asked, referring to a tattoo about the size of a nickel.

“It’s the Society’s mark,” Amy said. “It’s the Freemason symbol, but with a pentagram in the middle instead of a G.”

Allen lay his head on the pillow. “I think I just need a quick nap.” A monster yawn swallowed his face.

“We can’t stay here.”

“Just five minutes.” Allen closed his eyes. “I’m exhausted.”

She sighed. “Me too.”

The narrow bunk shifted with her weight as she scooted in next to him, her bare shoulder touching his back, her slender pink foot brushing his calf.

Are you kidding me? His erection was so full and painful that he thought he might need medical attention. He recalled a Viagra advertisement he’d seen on cable. For erections lasting longer than four hours, please consult a physician . This is how he would die, Allen thought. To come through a night of abductions and machine-gun fire only to die of an excessive hard-on.

Amy yawned. “Just five minutes. Then we have to move.”

“What if I went to Father Paul?” Allen said. “Explained that I have nothing to do with this. I could get on a plane, go straight back to the States.”

“He wouldn’t believe you, and besides, it isn’t true. You’re his link to Evergreen. The Vatican wants whatever Evergreen is after, that’s for sure. I’m telling you, your best chance is to stick with me. We’ll get word to a Society elder and get this all figured out. In the meantime, the only thing we can do is avoid being captured or killed.”

They lapsed into silence. In thirty seconds, she snored lightly. A minute later she rolled over against him. He felt her chest rise and fall against his back with each breath.

Forget it. You barely even know her. Just go to sleep, idiot .

And somehow he did. Deep fatigue seeped into his bones, sapped him, pulled him into downy slumber.

“Allen. Alllleeeeeenn.”

Oh, hell.

He wore the ruffled shirt again, found himself jogging through a green, misty forest. The voice kept calling his name. The fog swirled in so thick that it swallowed the trees around him. He glided through it, his boots touching down on cobblestone. The fog parted to reveal an iron gate and a stone wall, a graveyard beyond, large monuments as looming and eerie as a scene from a Hammer film.

Allen knew it was a dream. Or was it more? Some kind of visitation.

Cassandra stood at the gate, and Allen felt chilled to look upon her. She wore a bloodred dress, the half moons of her white breasts erupting from her bodice. This seemed less Brontë to Allen and more Harlequin. The entire scene seemed a bit off, in fact, fading in and out of focus as the fog ebbed and flowed.

“I can barely reach you, My Allen.” Cassandra’s voice sounded as if it came from the far end of a long tunnel. “This place.” She gestured to the cemetery. “I cannot enter here. You must go. It is your task.”

“Why?” Allen’s own voice sounded too loud. “What’s in there?”

“My life.”

Cassandra slowly melted into transparency, blew away like smoke on the wind, melting into the fog.

“Wait!” shouted Allen. “What’s in there?”

The fog closed in, and everything went gray.

Allen opened his eyes.

How long had it been? More than five minutes certainly. Amy still curled next to him, her warm breath on his neck. He checked himself and was never so happy to find himself flaccid. Now maybe he could get dressed with a minimum of embarrassment. He propped himself up on one elbow, prepared to nudge Amy awake.

A light knock at the door. “Allen? Are you in there?” It was a familiar voice.

The door opened slowly. A young woman stuck her head inside the dorm room. “Allen?”

Penny.

Allen pictured himself hovering over Amy, both of them in towels, and realized how it must have looked.

“Is that you, Allen?” Penny opened the door wider, allowing light from the hallway to stream in. “My flight got in yesterday late, so I waited until- Who the hell is that ?”

Amy’s eyes flickered open, and she saw Penny. “Hello.”

Penny crossed her arms. “Hello yourself.”

A my slipped into a pair of Allen’s gym shorts, then pulled them tight with the drawstring. She knotted the too-large, red T-shirt (which read CCCP in yellow letters) at the waist and somehow made the outfit work. Meanwhile, Allen turned his back to the girls and put on boxers, jeans, a dark green T-shirt, and socks and running shoes.

“I’m sorry,” Amy said to Penny. “I know you came to visit your friend, but we have to leave now. This is extremely urgent.”

“Yes, I saw how urgently you both occupied the bottom bunk without any clothing,” Penny said. “Perhaps urge is the key element in the word ‘urgent’ in this case.”

“Damn it, Penny, you don’t understand,” Allen said, spraying deodorant under his shirt. “A lot has happened since I’ve arrived.”

Penny’s eyes shifted to Amy, then back to Allen. “Yes, I see you work fast.”

“This is serious . I don’t think Father Paul is the person you think he is.”

Allen tried to explain the late-night firefight, the special-forces priests bursting in, the flight to the secret witches’ lair beneath Zizkov, the story of the philosopher’s stone. He tried to imagine how the story sounded.

It sounded like bullshit.

“I’ve known Father Paul a long time,” Penny said. “There has to be a rational explanation.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear the part about the machine guns,” Allen said. “He tried to kidnap me.”

“Actually, it sounds like your girlfriend and her pals kidnapped you and Father Paul was trying to rescue you,” Penny said.

Allen opened his mouth, paused, closed it again, and turned to Amy. “She has a point.”