Victor Gischler - Vampire A Go-Go

“That’s what Penny said too.”

“Do you want some coffee?” asked Father Paul. “I’m going to have some.”

“How about a Coke?”

The priest got up and looked in the fridge. “No Coke. Pepsi.”

“Okay.”

Father Paul poured himself a cup of coffee in a paper cup, brought Allen a can of Pepsi, and sat down again. He puffed the cigarette, waited.

“At first I just wanted to go home,” Allen said. “But now…” He shrugged. “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“Try.”

Allen thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t want to go home not knowing how all this turned out.”

Father Paul smiled. “We should make a Jesuit out of you.”

Allen smiled too. “No, thanks.”

“Your other friend. What’s up with her?”

“Amy?”

“One of that Society lot,” Father Paul said. “She doesn’t much care for my type.” Father Paul tapped his white collar with his pinkie finger. “You think we can get her to work with us?”

“I couldn’t say,” Allen admitted. “Do you need her?”

“The Society and the Vatican are on the same page for this one. Nobody wants to see the philosopher’s stone fall into the wrong hands. Nobody’s exactly sure what the damn thing can do.” A pause for a cigarette puff. “You’ve told me what you read in the Kelley diary, the caverns beneath St. Vitus and the strange machine the astrologer built. Why do you think the vampire wants the stone?”

Allen felt his eye twitch and looked away. He felt uncomfortable discussing Cassandra. “I don’t know.”

“She never mentioned anything while you were… together?”

“No.”

Father Paul nodded slowly. “Okay.” Puff. “You want to see her?”

Allen’s eyes widened. See her? Of course not! And yet…

“Penny, I mean,” the priest said. “She’s up and around now, I think. I know you were worried about her.”

Allen sighed and nodded. “Sure.”

Father Paul pushed away from the table. “Follow me.”

The priests had stashed Amy in a small office. A desk, a chair, a small bathroom. They’d politely given her a bottle of water when she’d asked for a drink. They hadn’t treated her like the enemy, but it was clear they meant for her to stay put until they were ready to deal with her.

Where was Allen? Was Penny okay? All she could do was pace the tiny, bland room.

Eventually her bladder forced her into the small bathroom. She peed, washed her hands at the sink. She lingered, massaging the warm soap into her palms, rubbed the knuckles. She looked at herself and was surprised she didn’t appear more haggard. She felt like she could sleep for days. The cracked mirror above the sink fogged over, the room becoming suddenly chill. Her arms and legs breaking out in gooseflesh. Her breath came out as fog too. The bathroom was suddenly freezing.

Writing appeared in the fog on the mirror: Are you Amy?

Amy’s eyes grew big. Oh, shit . She held her breath, not knowing what to do.

More writing: Hello? Are you there?

“I’m Amy,” she said in a small voice. “I’m here.”

The apparition came into focus slowly, right in front of Amy-an old woman with hollow eyes, skin tight across her face, making her look nearly skeletal. Her features were pinched and jagged. “Amy?”

“Who are you?”

“It’s me, Amy. Margaret.”

Amy gasped. “What happened?”

“What year is it?” the ghost asked. “So long. So many years wandering, looking for you. I got lost in there. You can’t imagine what it’s like.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter,” Margaret’s ghost said. “I’ve found you. I can rest. Fulfill my purpose and rest at long last.”

Amy hugged herself, shivering now. “I d-don’t understand.”

“The Society is smashed,” the ghost told her. “Fay has betrayed us. Beware of him. The Council is broken. He murdered me, Amy. I hung on to warn as many as I could. I have to go now. So long since I’ve felt the sun on my skin. I must fade now into the gray. It’s pulling me. Like some kind of cosmic undertow.” She began to fade.

“W-wait,” Amy called after her. “What d-do I do now? I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m going now.” The ghost’s voice was a faint echo. “It’s taking me. Beware of Fay. Beware.”

The ghost vanished totally. Amy shivered, waited another few seconds but nothing else happened. She stumbled out of the bathroom and into the warmth, sat at the little desk, blowing on her hands.

She began to cry, not even completely sure who she was crying for.

Father Paul led Allen down a short hall to another door. Finnegan leaned against the wall waiting for them.

“I brought her some clothes,” Finnegan said. “She’s putting them on now.”

Father Paul knocked. “You decent?”

“It’s okay,” Penny called from within.

They opened the door and entered. Penny wore a pair of blue gym shorts and a tourist T-shirt with the Czech flag on the front. Allen noticed Penny’s legs, pale but smooth and well-toned. He noticed things like that now.

Penny bent over, tying a pair of white deck shoes. She stood and grunted.

“Are you okay?” Allen asked.

“My ribs are bruised,” she said, “but it could have been a lot worse. I’ll make it.”

Penny handed a large, red bra back to Finnegan. “I appreciate that you think I can fill this thing, but I think I’ll skip it.”

The sheepish grin made the big priest look like some humble, friendly farmer. “Sorry, lass. I don’t have a lot of experience buying such things.”

“I think we’re all glad to hear that,” Father Paul said.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Allen said gently. “Glad you’re not dead.”

A smile flickered across Penny’s face. “Me too.”

The door opened and Amy entered with a tall black priest behind her. Amy saw Penny and flashed her a big smile. “You’re okay!”

“A few bumps,” Penny said. “I’ve had worse.”

“Thanks for bringing her, Father Starkes.” Father Paul turned to Amy. “The Society and the Vatican have often been adversaries, young lady. But I think this time we need to work together. Perhaps if I could convince-”

“I’ll help you,” Amy said.

Father Paul blinked. “At the very least, I thought you’d need to check with your Council.”

Amy sighed. “No. I don’t need to check with them anymore.”

Father Paul rubbed his hands together. “Okay, then. Let’s go dig up a dead guy.”

High atop a rocky cliff, guarding the Vltava, the Vysehrad was much more a fortress than a palace. A zigzagging path climbed the cliff on the river side. A tram let off tourists on the other side. More respectable guidebooks than The Rogue’s Guide suggested a scenic walking tour that started at the tram stop, passed the highlights of the Vysehrad, including Dvoák’s tomb in the cemetery, and then took the zigzag path down the cliff to the river.

Allen, Amy, Penny, and the priests had elected to come up from the other direction; that was why Allen was puffing and wheezing and finally collapsed when they made it to the top. “Why is every place I need to go in this town uphill?”

Finnegan reached down, hooked Allen under one arm, and pulled him to his feet. “You’re out of shape, lad.”

“It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“The trams don’t run this time of night, and it’s likely that side of the Vysehrad will be more closely watched,” Father Paul said. “More stealthy to come up this way.”

“Unless they hear young Cabbot’s heart pounding,” Finnegan said.