Victor Gischler - Vampire A Go-Go

“We’ll set him straight, sir.”

“We’ve been doing this all wrong,” Father Paul said. “Instead of chasing after him, we need to get ahead, wait for him someplace down the line.”

“Where?”

Father Paul stuck a cigarette into his mouth without lighting it. “What’s the word on Evergreen’s apartment?”

“About a block from here. We’ve got somebody watching,” Finnegan said. “But intelligence still thinks it’s a decoy. The professor has probably rented a place under a different name, maybe out in one of the suburbs.”

Father Paul lit the cigarette, puffed. “Let’s find out where.”

Allen opened his eyes and looked at his watch. He’d slept three hours. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, felt fuzzy-headed. He shuffled into the tiny bathroom, splashed water in his face. The dim light over the sink buzzed. The face that looked back at him in the mirror had dark circles under the eyes.

Back in the sitting room, he spotted Amy on the couch, shoes off, breathing lightly. He tiptoed past her into the kitchen. Penny had left a note on the small table:

Allen,

There’s food in the refrigerator. I’m going to let you and your Friend sleep. I can tell you’ve both had a tough time. I’ll be back soon. Please wait for me.

Penny

Allen built himself a salami sandwich on dark bread with some soft kind of orange cheese. A bottle of water. He sat at the small kitchen table, chewing and considering his situation.

Had Amy kept her promise to keep her Society friends at bay? He finished the sandwich, put the plate in the sink. And where had Penny gone? The sudden notion she’d gone to fetch Father Paul sent a shiver of anxiety up Allen’s spine. Penny refused to believe the priest could possibly be one of the bad guys. She might be bringing him back here at this very minute in some misguided attempt to help Allen. Amy claimed to be one of the good guys too. Everyone said they wanted to help him.

So why did Allen feel like a rabbit with hounds on his heels?

He leaned against the doorframe between the kitchen and the sitting room, looked again at Amy curled on the couch. It could be a lot worse. He could be stuck with Clover. If he’d been on the run with the punk rock girl, he’d probably have been hog-tied with tape over his mouth, stashed in some closet.

Allen had to admit his time with Amy had not been entirely unpleasant. Perhaps that was why he’d felt slightly defensive with Penny earlier. He’d not been doing anything wrong with Amy when Penny had walked in on them-not that Allen would have refused any offers.

And yet… Penny. He was starting to see her in a way that hadn’t occurred to him before. Or had it? Hadn’t he always wondered about her? Just a little.

Okay, this was ridiculous. The completely gorgeous girl on the couch in front of him had been part of a plot to kidnap him. His close friend Penny was a devout Catholic who was likely on her way to a priest who seemed to favor automatic weapons over rosary beads.

Allen turned away from the sleeping girl and walked softly across the kitchen. He’d promised to wait until she returned. Well, she’d returned. Yeah, he was splitting hairs, but the fact was Allen had to figure things out, and Penny and Amy would only continue to cloud his thinking. He opened the door, stepped outside, and closed it quietly.

Allen needed answers. He walked quietly down the steps and headed toward the tram stop. The man who seemed to be at the core of this shit-storm would have those answers, Allen hoped.

Allen hopped the next tram headed toward Letna and Professor Evergreen’s apartment.

Jackson Fay sat at the oversized wooden desk. It was too big for his small faculty office at St. Sebastian’s College, but he liked the artificial sense of power it gave him, although he did not admit this to himself, not exactly in that way.

Power. It filled him yet left him hungry for more. The most powerful aphrodisiac he’d ever known, yet the climax never came. It was the curse of power that the more he had, the more he needed.

He looked out his dingy window. London was as drab and gray as his mood.

A knock, the one he’d been waiting for, sounded at his door. “Enter.”

The door swung open and an old woman entered. She had steel-colored hair and deep lines at her eyes. She wore a black pantsuit, starched white blouse, and a bloodred brooch at the throat. An apple-cheeked man in a slightly garish pin-striped suit followed her, closing the door behind him. They stood crowded up against the desk.

“Professor Fay,” the old woman said, nodding at him. Her companion nodded too.

“Margaret. Blake.” He returned the nod.

“There is bad news out of Prague,” the old woman reported. “Our people were hit hard, scattered. News trickles in, but we don’t have the complete picture.”

“The Vatican?”

Margaret nodded. “A crack squad of Battle Jesuits, if I’m reading the situation correctly. The cardinals are giving us top priority, it seems.”

Fay steepled his fingers under his chin, sat back in the oversized leather chair. He considered the bad news. Jackson Fay was a lean man, with straight shoulders and eyes so green it seemed as if someone had airbrushed them. He had thick black hair with streaks of white above each ear, and a sharp chin and cheekbones. He wore a tan tweed jacket and a muted red vest.

“We have perhaps overreached,” Fay admitted. “What does the Council say about withdrawing our operation?”

“There’s more,” Margaret said. “Evergreen is apparently very close to the philosopher’s stone.”

“A little too damn close for comfort, if you ask me.” Blake’s voice had a mild Irish lilt.

Fay leaned forward and rested his elbows on the enormous desk. “That’s not acceptable.”

Margaret shook her head. “No.”

“The stone in Evergreen’s hands would be… problematic.”

Margaret nodded. “Yes.”

“Suggestions?”

Blake cleared his throat nervously. “We think our position toward Evergreen should… ah… be taken to the next level.” He tugged at his tie, as if he was suddenly uncomfortable.

“We want him killed,” Margaret clarified. “Before he gets the stone and uses it.”

“That has already been attempted,” Fay told them.

Margaret raised an eyebrow. Although the Society bylaws allowed the high councilman to take emergency actions without consulting the rest of the Council, the elimination of a rogue member would usually be seen as significant enough to call a meeting.

“And are we convinced he even knows how to use it?” Fay asked.

“The Council would prefer not to take that chance.” Margaret shrugged, a slight movement.

“What if,” posed Fay, “we let our Mr. Evergreen find the stone?”

Blake made a vague choking sound and tugged at his tie again.

Margaret asked, “To what end?”

“Finding it is the hard part,” Fay said. “It would not be so difficult to then take it away from him.”

The old woman considered, then said, “Naturally, if the stone were to come into our possession for safekeeping, that would be best. Perhaps our people could even divine a way to destroy the blasted thing.”

“I suppose,” Fay said. “But that’s not precisely what I meant. What if we could find a way to use the stone ourselves?”

Blake went pale. Margaret frowned.

“This could be one of the most powerful arcane items in recorded history,” Fay said. “Can we not harness its power, use it for our own purposes?”

Margaret and Blake looked at each other. Tension grew thick in the room.

“I would oppose such a scheme,” Margaret said. “As I believe would the rest of the Council.”