Alex Archer - Gabriel's Horn

After a while they all started to look the same. There were some who were old and some who were younger, but they all had earmarks of desperation or deviance. She wondered if her best friend, Bart McGilley, the NYPD detective, ever noticed how similar the criminals he chased looked.

She glanced at her watch. It was after five. Dinner was at eight.

Now I’m going to have to rush, she thought as she listened to Doug Morrell continue his tirade about vampires. She hadn’t wanted to rush. This was a date. More than that, it was a date with Garin Braden, a man she knew she couldn’t trust.

And how did you dress for something like that? It was a question that had been plaguing her for weeks. Ever since he’d told her that it was time for her to pay off on her promise to have dinner with him after he’d helped her out of a dangerous situation in India ages ago.

“I must have been brain-dead when I made that deal,” she said to herself. At the time it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. Now it felt as if she’d made a deal with the devil.

That was one thing she was certain of—Garin Braden didn’t walk on the side of angels.

But what kind of conversation did she expect to have with someone who was seemingly immortal? It was intimidating and that was a feeling she rarely experienced.

“Doug,” Annja interrupted. Her head throbbed from studying photographs and trying to deal with Skromach’s suspicions about the sword.

The police detective had checked in a few times, usually to bring her something to drink and once to see if she wanted anything to eat. Despite the fact that he’d consigned her to this room and these photographs, he wasn’t a bad guy.

Doug hadn’t been thrown off his game. “Don’t you see that this is important?”

Be patient, Annja reminded herself. She took a breath. Then she spoke slowly.

“There…are…no…vampires…in…Prague.”

“There have to be.”

“Doug,” Annja sighed, “vampires don’t exist.”

“They hide,” Doug said. “No one’s as good at hiding as a vampire.”

“Really?” Annja leaned back in the straight-backed chair and tried to get comfortable. She couldn’t.

“I’m telling you there’s a story about vampires in Prague,” Doug whined.

“I’d rather do the one on King Wenceslas that I suggested.”

Paper turned at Doug’s end of the connection. “This is that sleeping-king thing, right?”

Annja felt encouraged that Doug had read her proposal. “The king in the mountain. Yes.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Doug said. “Sleeping king. King of the mountain. Same diff. Supposed to be called forth from the earth in times of great danger to the world. Did I leave anything out?”

“The legend of King Wenceslas coming back to fight evil is an important part of why I want to do the story. It’s been woven into the King Arthur myth.”

“He comes back from the dead?” Doug sounded excited.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

Annja took a breath. “I did. I sent research notes.”

“You know I don’t look at that stuff. This is television. All you need is a good beat line to make anything fly. I like the idea of him coming back from the dead,” Doug said. “Kind of spooky, actually.”

Annja looked around the small office and spotted a picture of Skromach with a woman about his age and three kids, two girls and a boy.

“Didn’t they write a song about this guy?” Doug asked. “I seem to recall you saying something about a song.”

“A Christmas carol.” Annja focused. The story about King Wenceslas would be a good one.

“Yeah. ‘Good King Wenceslas,’ right?”

“Yes.” Annja was even further amazed when Doug tried to remember the chorus.

He kept singing “Good King Wenceslas” until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop. That’s not how it goes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” Annja looked at the mug shots. Those were preferable to dealing with Doug when he went obsessive-compulsive with her.

“Guy was supposed to be Santa Claus, wasn’t he?” Doug asked.

“Not exactly. That’s a connection a lot of people make.”

“I have to admit, I like it.”

Annja felt hopeful. “You do?”

“Yeah. So this King Wenceslas comes back from the dead? Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Annja said immediately. She had the worst feeling that she knew exactly where Doug was headed. “He’s not supposed to be dead. Just sleeping.”

“Hibernating,” Doug said. “Kind of like a vampire.”

“No.”

“Comes back from the dead. Wants to wreak havoc on whatever villain is sucking the life out of the world. Kind of sounds vampirish to me.”

“No,” Annja repeated.

“I like it,” Doug said. “I want this story.”

“King Wenceslas wasn’t a vampire.”

“Maybe you just haven’t dug deeply enough. Maybe his whole vampire nature is there waiting for you to discover it.”

“It’s not.”

“I mean, can you imagine this?” Doug asked.

“No,” Annja said. “I can’t. Doug, Wenceslas was not a vampire.”

“He could be.”

“He is a saint.”

“Cool,” Doug exclaimed. “A vampire that’s been sainted. You know what’ll really sell this piece, though?”

Annja was afraid to ask.

“Picture this,” Doug went on. “We show Wenceslas as a warrior knight. A big sword or ax. Horned helmet like the Vikings wore.”

“The Vikings didn’t wear horned helmets,” Annja said. “That’s just a perception created by Hollywood. It’s wrong.” But she knew Doug wasn’t listening. He was lost in his own world.

“So we see this big knight with this gnarly weapon.” Excitement thrummed in Doug’s voice. “Big burly guy. Muscles out to here. And let’s make the armor red. With a hood. So the Santa Claus connection comes through.”

Annja didn’t even try to interrupt. She’d been through sessions like this with Doug before. It was already too late.

“A red hood,” Doug said. “Get it? Then the camera pans in and Wenceslas grins at us. Only instead of regular teeth…he’s got fangs!”

Annja hung up. There were times when talking to Doug, though she counted him as a friend, were exhausting. She could always claim a dead battery later. She laid the phone beside her notebook computer.

While she was looking at the mug shots, she was also searching the archaeological sites for information about the green-scimitar tattoo. She felt certain there was something significant about the design.

So far there weren’t any responses on the boards.

THE PHONE RANG a few minutes later. At first Annja was just going to let it go to voice mail. Then she noticed that the number was local to Prague. She scooped up the phone and answered.

“You’re not at your hotel,” a strong male voice accused.

The voice belonged to Garin Braden. Just like that, all the trepidation Annja had about the upcoming date slammed into her.

She took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out her mouth. This is a mistake, she told herself.

“I’m not,” she said in a calm voice. Still, she felt her pulse beating faster than normal. She didn’t like it. Garin was a dangerous man. If she’d had her preference, she’d have kept him as an enemy the way he’d been when they’d first met. He’d tried to kill her then.

“I thought this would be something special.” Garin didn’t sound disappointed; he sounded irritated. “I’ve gone to considerable lengths to make tonight happen.”

Unable to sit in the chair any longer, Annja got up and paced the room. She rubbed the back of her neck and tried to relax. Her shoulders felt knotted and sore.