Simon Green - From Hell with love

"You all right, love?"

She caressed her throat briefly, but her smiled never wavered. "All the better for seeing you, my sweet."

"I know you," the Immortal said harshly, from the floor. "We all know you. We keep killing you, and you keep coming back!"

"It's a gift," said Springheel Jack. He grabbed the Immortal's head and jerked it back to expose the throat. A straight razor pressed against the taut skin, and a thin runnel of blood trickled down, as the steel edge nicked the skin.

"Say good night, Gracie," said Jack.

"No!" said the Bride. Springheel Jack? looked at her.

"No?" he said, politely.

"I'm not in a mood to be merciful," said the Bride.

Springheel Jack considered this, and then nodded. He hit the Immortal a vicious blow on the top of the head with his elbow, and the Immortal slumped unconscious to the floor. Jack stood up, and took his Bride in his arms. They embraced, laughing, and then she crushed him to him. And since she was a good foot taller than he was, his face disappeared into her cleavage. He didn't seem to mind. She finally released him, still laughing, and he smiled happily around him. The straight razors were gone from his hands. He looked down at the unconscious form at his feet.

"Who is he, anyway?"

"An Immortal," I said. "Shaman Bond, at your service."

"Ah," said Springheel Jack. "The Bride has spoken of you, in a quite annoyingly approving way. If I weren't so secure, I might be jealous. But I'm not. Thanks for throwing the bowl."

"Least I could do," I said.

"Yes," said Jack. "That's what I thought. Still, an Immortal, you say? One of those terribly up themselves long-lived creeps, from the real Castle Frankenstein, up the road?"

"They think we don't know," sniffed the Bride. "Of course we know! We all remember where we were born."

Springheel Jack considered me carefully. "What do you know of Immortals, Shaman?"

"I'm just here to do a favour for a friend," I said. "You know how it is…"

"Of course," said the Bride. "If there's anything…"

"I'll let you know," I said.

"And if you should by any chance find a way into the Castle…"

"I'll let you know."

I bowed to them all politely, and headed for the open French windows. Just in case the receptionist was listening at the door and wondering why it had all gone quiet. I was just stepping out into the dark of the evening when I heard the Bride say, "An Immortal, who claims to be our superior? I think not. I think… we'll make him one of us. Jack, fetch me my scalpels!"

Some monsters are scarier than others.

I moved quickly across the cobbled yard, putting some distance between me and the Hotel. I looked up the long narrow road that led to the real Castle Frankenstein, but it was hidden from view behind the rising hill. I had to wonder if perhaps Rafe had got some kind of warning off, before we grabbed him. In which case, they knew I was coming. Was that why the Immortal had been sent down to the Hotel? But there is caution, which is useful, and paranoia, which is mostly not. Not everything is about me. I was here to do a job, and it was time I got on with it. I started up the road. There was still no sign of any passing traffic. The evening had gone dark, and the last of the light was going out of the day. A storm was gathering.

Perfect atmosphere, for an assault on Castle Frankenstein.

I walked up the middle of the road, pacing myself. It was a fair walk to the Castle, and I didn't want to miss anything interesting along the way. There were no streetlights, no markings on the road, and as the Hotel vanished behind a curve in the road, it felt like I was walking back into the Past, into a more primitive time, where the peasants in the small village I'd left behind me had reason to be afraid when the lightning flared, and strange lights shone at Castle Frankenstein.

There were no more signs of civilisation, just the rising hill and the darkening sky, and the road winding away before me. It wasn't even much of a road. A nearly full moon rode high on the sky, just enough to see by. I would have liked to use my torc, to call up some golden glasses to see through, but I didn't dare, this close to the Castle. The torc could hide itself, but my armour would stand out like a beacon in the dark. It wasn't as though there was much to see, anyway. It was all black basaltic rock and shifting scree, rising up increasingly on the one side, and the dull sounds of the River Rhine far below, on the other. No life, no vegetation, not even the usual hardy shrubs. And then, not nearly far enough off, I heard the sudden howling of a wolf. At least, I hoped it was a wolf. In this kind of territory, you never knew. I checked my Colt Repeater was secure in its holster, so I could be sure I had access to silver bullets.

First the Bride of Frankenstein, and now werewolves in the night. It was liking walking through one of the old Universal monster movies.

Cool.

But even as I kept a cautious eye on my surroundings, it dawned on me that I hadn't seen anything moving, anything living, ever since I left the Hotel behind me. Which was… unusual. I raised my Sight, and then stopped dead in my tracks. The world around me was completely empty, and that never, ever happens. There's always something: ghosts from the Past, elementals, otherworldly entities… they're everywhere. Part and parcel of the Hidden World, that most people don't even know exists. The unnatural world, of which the natural world is only a part, like the tip of the iceberg. But, not here.

And then finally my Sight showed me something, something I'd overlooked simply because it was so very big. The hill was alive, and it was watching me. I couldn't make out any actual eyes, even with my Sight, but I could feel their regard. The whole hill… either was something, or covered something, very huge and very old. The steady gaze didn't feel particularly dangerous, or menacing. Just… interested. So I faced the hill, bowed politely, and raised my voice on that empty silent night.

"Good evening. I am Edwin Drood. May I inquire, whom do I have the honour of addressing?"

The answering voice rolled around inside my head like a long crash of thunder, ancient and powerful, but strangely… wistful.

Drood… Yes, I know that name. Though it has been long and long since any of that name came to talk with me. I am a dragon, Edwin Drood. Or at least, a dragon's head. Cut off long ago, by the Baron Frankenstein. Left here to rot, as a warning to others. But I am a dragon of the old blood, and we do not die easily. I did not rot. I watched him with my eyes, and I cursed him with my voice, and eventually he had his people cover me over with earth and stone, and I became a hill. And so… I remain, slowly dying, slowly passing from this world of men.

"All right," I said. "That… is just unfair. I have business with the current occupants of Castle Frankenstein, but after I've dealt with them… Would you like to come home with me? You'd be welcome at Drood Hall, for whatever time you have left."

I couldn't tell you why I made the offer. I never met a dragon that didn't deserve killing on general principles, like the one at the Magnificat… but I felt sorry for this one. Just left lying here, alone and ignored, fading away down the years… It didn't sit right with me. I know; it's stray dog syndrome with a vengeance, but… the family could learn a lot from talking to a dragon. We don't normally get the chance.

Home… Yes, Drood. I think I would like that. The world is very quiet here, and empty. I would enjoy having something new to look at.

"I've noticed that," I said. "Where is everything? What happened to all the inhabitants of the Hidden World?"

They killed them. Killed them all. From the greatest to the smallest, from the most dangerous to the most insignificant, they wiped them all out. In the space of one long bloody night.