Victor Gischler - Vampire A Go-Go

He watched as the priests and the kids clustered around the door to the cathedral. Were they going in? The big priest approached the front door with a crowbar. A loud crack and the rattle of a falling chain. They were breaking in!

A large raven landed on a tree branch near Zabel. It flapped wings, squawked.

Shut up, you stupid bird .

He turned his attention back to the cathedral. They were going inside, but they left the tall black guy out front. A lookout. This gave Zabel an idea. He reached into his bag of tricks, took out a jar of goo, rubbed some on the palm of his hands. He bent down, grabbed a handful of loose dirt in each hand, and spread the dirt in a circular motion while chanting arcane words.

A mist seeped out of the ground around him, swirled around his feet. A thick fog. It began to spread.

The raven squawked again, and Zabel frowned at it. Many considered the raven to be a bad omen. A good thing Zabel wasn’t superstitious.

“Find the light, Finnegan,” Father Paul said.

“Right.”

The Irish priest went fumbling into the dark, and sixty seconds later the lights, small electric bulbs made to resemble candlelight; came on. Charming. Every historical inch of Prague had been done over for the tourists.

Not nearly as grand and impressive as St. Vitus Cathedral, the Cathedral of St. Paul and Peter was nonetheless large and ornate, with rows of pews, hanging chandeliers, an altar with much gold, and other shiny stuff.

“Spread out,” Father Paul told everyone.

Allen asked, “What are we looking for?”

“Let’s hope we know it when we see it.”

Allen strolled the aisle between a row of pews and a stone wall, glancing at the floor and ceiling. A narrow wooden door led to a small anteroom. Another door beyond that, stairs leading down. He descended into a small basement, where he had to feel along the wall for an old push-button light switch, which brought a naked high-watt bulb blazing to life overhead. Barrels and crates. Storage.

Think. Don’t just wander around aimlessly. Who were these people?

Masons. Stoneworkers.

Allen got on his hands and knees and ran his hands over the smooth, wide stones, trying get a fingernail in the crack where the stones met. Allen new nothing of stonework, but this seemed to be solid stuff. He frowned at his dirty hands. The floor was covered in thick dust. Nobody had been down here in a good long time.

He continued to crawl along, knees scraping a trail in the dust. He crawled between barrels and crates, smearing dust on his sweaty face. Back and legs aching, he gave up at last. He stood, looked back at the dust trail. He looked down at his clothes. What a mess .

Allen stood there with his hands on his hips. Think, moron . But his mind went blank. He simply gazed at the floor, the mental equivalent of a test pattern droning in his head.

He noticed something.

The trail his knees had left in the dust was interrupted by a clean line that ran across it. No dust at all. He bent down for a closer look. A perfectly straight line. No dust. Right down the center of the line was another crack where two of the big floor stones met. Was it his imagination, or was this crack very slightly wider than the others?

He put his face right down next to the crack and held his breath. A slight waft of cool air touched his cheek. That’s what kept the dust from gathering along the crack. He crawled again, followed the crack. It went under a crate.

Allen stood, put a shoulder against the wooden crate and pushed. It didn’t budge at first, so Allen got lower, gained leverage, pushed again. It edged out of the way. Allen heaved again, his face going red, until he’d moved the crate completely off the crack.

He slumped against the wall, sucked air for a few seconds before bending over to examine the stone beneath the crate.

Something was carved into the far end of the stone, almost up against the wall. It was about as big around as a drink coaster and worn almost smooth. Allen shifted around so he wouldn’t block the light. He examined it again.

The Freemason symbol with the pentagram in the middle. Exactly like Amy’s tattoo.

He jammed his crowbar into the crack, tried to pry up the stone. It barely budged. He grunted, his face almost going purple this time. No. He backed off. He would rupture himself.

He ran back upstairs. He spotted the big Irish priest, Finnegan, searching the altar with Penny. “Where is everyone?”

“Searching,” Finnegan said. “You find something?”

“Maybe,” Allen said. “But I need some muscle.”

They followed him down to the basement. He showed them the Freemason symbol, explaining how he’d discovered it.

“Okay, lad, get on the other side,” Finnegan said. “Put your weight into that pry bar when I give the word.”

“Right.” Allen jammed the crowbar into the crack, and stood ready.

Finnegan positioned his crowbar on the other side. “Now.”

They both grunted, sweat breaking out on their foreheads. Penny stood back.

The stone block was thicker than Allen had guessed, but they finally lifted it high enough to shove it aside, stone grinding on stone, a whoosh of air sending puffs of dust between their legs.

They slid the stone aside, revealing a three-foot hole down into deep darkness and a narrow set of stairs that could accommodate one person at a time. Finnegan shone the flashlight down but couldn’t see much.

Allen got on his belly, shoved his own flashlight into the opening. “A chamber. And a tunnel, I think.” He put his foot on the top step. “Let’s go.”

“Hold on,” Finnegan said. “Best we fetch the others first. It wouldn’t be polite to go off and get killed, letting the others wonder what happened.”

Allen felt something tug at him, some force urging him down the stairs and into the tunnel, but he resisted. “Okay.”

While Finnegan was gone, the compulsion to go ahead, not to wait for the others, nearly overwhelmed him. Part of him recognized this as Cassandra’s doing. He had to face it. There was still some intermittent hold on him, something that only kicked in at certain key moments. It was Cassandra’s will that he go down those steps. Don’t wait . He had a mission to complete for her, and every second he delayed increased his discomfort, a deep sense of uneasiness at a task uncompleted.

“Are you okay?” Penny touched his arm with soft, cool fingers.

Allen closed his eyes tight, opened them again, and looked at her. He realized he was standing rigidly, with a white-knuckle grip on the crowbar. He took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m a little nervous is all.”

Penny smiled crookedly. “Vampires and philosopher’s stones? I can’t imagine why anyone would be nervous.”

Finnegan returned with Amy and Father Paul. They all leaned over, gazed down into the dark black hole.

Father Paul said, “Okay. Everyone wait here. I’ll have a look.”

“No way,” Allen said. “I found it. I’m going too.”

“If he’s going, I’m going,” Penny said.

“If she’s going, I’m going,” Amy said.

Father Paul grimaced. “Fine. Don’t touch anything. Be careful.”

Amy smirked. “Did you really just say to be careful?”

Father Paul ignored her, flipped on his flashlight, and descended the stairs. “Let’s go.”

The stairs delved deeper than expected, heading straight down at first before turning into a tight curve and spiraling. Allen noticed that the passage had been carved from raw stone. It grew colder as they went.

The stairs terminated in a round, twenty-by-twenty-foot chamber, the walls carved smooth. Their flashlight beams played over the walls before coming to rest on the circular door in front of them, carved pillars on either side. A larger version of the Freemason symbol with the pentagram in the middle had been carved neatly and deeply into the center of the door.