Victor Gischler - Vampire A Go-Go

Blake nodded apologetically. “Yes, I’d quite have to agree, old chap. Just too damn risky, don’t you see?”

Margaret’s eyes were hard as granite. “I think our high councilman understands our feelings in this matter.” Her gaze remained unwavering, locked on Fay.

Another long tense moment.

Fay sighed, relaxed back into his chair. “Naturally you’re right, Margaret. You too, Blake.”

The old woman’s gaze softened microscopically. Blake actually laughed, wiped sweat from his forehead.

“As high councilman, it’s my responsibility to consider all possibilities. I hope you can appreciate that. Still.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice and encouraging the others to lean in to hear him. “There is one minor aspect of this situation you may have failed to consider fully.” He reached for a small, wooden box at the corner of his desk and lifted the lid.

Margaret raised an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Fay reached into the box with thumb and forefinger, pinched out a small portion of the dull silver powder within. “This.”

Fay blew the powder into her face, harsh syllables flying from his mouth immediately after.

The dust particles hardened to tiny diamond shards, blasting the old woman’s face, shredding flesh and bone. Blood sprayed against the door and wall behind her. A scream began somewhere deep in her throat, but it was cut short as glittering death flayed her tongue, turned the back of her throat into hamburger. She dropped dead onto Fay’s expensive Persian rug.

“Bastard.” Blake looked appalled, confused, betrayed. Terrified. His hand glowed blue-green as he raised it toward Fay.

Fay was already out of his chair and across the desk. He grabbed Blake’s wrist and twisted, the karma bolt discharging harmlessly into the ceiling.

With his other hand, Fay thrust a thin dagger into Blake’s gut.

Blake grunted, eyes going wide. He looked down where Fay still held the blade in his belly. A silver skull at the end of the hilt grinned up at him. Blake’s mouth tried to form words. Fay twisted the dagger, and Blake coughed blood.

“Anticlimactic, isn’t it?” Fay said, acid in his voice. “All of the intricate and deadly magic at my disposal, yet you meet your end with a simple dagger thrust.”

Fay jerked the blade out and thrust it home again. “Never underestimate the mundane.” Blake twitched. Fay gave another stab to be sure, and Blake’s eyes rolled up like cartoon window shades.

Fay let the man go, and Blake fell facedown across the desk, a pool of blood spreading to a stack of ungraded essays on King Arthur and the Holy Grail.

He looked from Blake’s dead body to Margaret’s ruined face. The sweet sensation of power still hummed along his bones. He’d been itching to try out the spell he’d used on the old woman. It had felt exactly as good as he’d anticipated. No heroine junky could know this feeling, no coke-head. And it was getting more difficult to reach this euphoria each time. Jackson Fay needed the philosopher’s stone. He’d outgrown the Society, had long suspected his personal ambitions would have forced him to make some sort of decision like this sooner or later.

And he’d never liked Margaret anyway, possibly because he’d been able to tell she’d never really liked him. A shame about Blake, though. A nice enough fellow, eager to please, but ultimately useless and a bit weak.

Fay took a pocket handkerchief from his jacket, wiped the blood from his hands and dagger. Fay appraised the mess he’d just made. There was no time to deal with it now. A simpler aversion spell would keep people out of his office until he had time to tidy up. He really should try to discover a simple spell that made dead bodies disappear.

He picked up the phone and dialed the extension for his department’s administrative assistant. “Edna, can you book me a flight to Prague? Right away, please.”

Two hours later, Jackson Fay sat aboard a Virgin Airways flight to Prague, sipping a glass of Pinot Noir and contemplating the savage things he would do to Professor Evergreen to make him divulge the secrets of the philosopher’s stone.

But a mere twenty minutes after Fay left the still warm bodies of his fellow Council members lying on his office floor, the red gem of Margaret’s brooch began to glow at her throat, dully at first, then more brilliantly. A stranger walking his basset hound below Fay’s office window paused to consider the sudden red glow, then shrugged and went about his business.

This is when Margaret joined me among the legions of the untimely dead. I wish I could have been there to show her the ropes. Still, she seemed to have a natural talent for it. In her own limited way, Margaret made a reasonably effective ghost.

The tram let Allen off at the edge of the residential neighborhood across from Letna Park. Had it really only been twenty-four hours since Allen had been here to supervise Evergreen’s strange delivery? It seemed a lifetime ago.

Now he would get answers. He would make Evergreen give him answers. After all Allen had been through, he could not find the brusque professor intimidating anymore. The guy owed him an explanation.

He entered Evergreen’s building and knocked on his apartment door. No answer. He knocked again. “Professor Evergreen?” He tried the knob. It was open.

He went inside.

“Professor?”

Allen noticed the suitcases straightaway, stacked in the entranceway next to an old-fashioned-looking steamer trunk. So they’d arrived. Good. Allen stepped into the apartment. The large crate Evergreen had been so concerned about was nowhere in sight. In a swivel chair across the room, Evergreen sat at a desk with his back to Allen.

“Professor Evergreen.”

Evergreen didn’t turn around.

Allen spotted the headphones, the wire leading to the MP3 player on the desk. Evergreen probably had the volume up to max and hadn’t heard Allen knock or enter the apartment.

Okay, man. Time to do this .

Allen crossed the room, tapped the big man on the shoulder, raised his voice. “Professor Evergreen. We need to talk. A lot of strange fucking shit has happened since I got here and-”

Evergreen toppled over, slid from the chair, and landed at Allen’s feet. His skin was as white as notebook paper. His eyes stared at the ceiling and his mouth hung open, tongue halfway out.

Allen hopped back. “Fuck!”

A ragged pink crater in the side of Evergreen’s neck, like somebody had taken a giant bite of undercooked ham.

Allen swallowed hard. “Oh, man. That’s not cool.”

He backed to the center of the room, turned his head from side to side. What the fuck had happened here? Allen should call somebody. The local police, maybe. Or he could turn and haul ass. Why would anyone do this to the professor? Yeah, most of his students pretty much thought he was a dick… but this?

The light coming from the balcony dimmed, as if a dark cloud had passed in front of the sun. Allen went cold. The hair on his neck stood straight.

“Allen.”

The voice so familiar it made Allen gasp. He stood frozen, wanting to back out of the room, but something sapped his will.

“Allen.”

This time he turned his head, looked toward the half-open door of the apartment’s master bedroom. The lights were off. A cold breeze picked up and came through the open balcony doors, tugged at Allen’s hair and clothing. He thought he could just make out the shape of someone back in the dark bedroom.

“Who is it?” But Allen knew who it was.

“Allen, come in here, please.”

Allen spoke slowly, like he was having trouble remembering how words worked. “Maybe you should come out here.”