Vampire a Go-Go

Upon seeing the alchemist unplacated, Roderick went on to say, "Listen, Kelley, you've been a good sport, letting me blast you with the lens and all. If you still want, I can probably arrange a quick glance at that iron box you're so curious about."



"That would be most gracious," Kelley said.



The brand on his ass stung briefly.



Roderick led him into the dungeons deep below the castle, past armed guards, through dim passageways illuminated by flickering torches. Kelley had not foreseen, nor desired, being underground again so quickly. He wondered if there were tunnels that connected the dungeons below the castle with the passages below St. Vitus Cathedral.



They finally arrived at a large set of thick, wooden double doors. Kelley counted a dozen guards in heavy armor standing in front of the doors and crowding the passage. They eyed Kelley with grim suspicion but parted to let Roderick enter. Kelley followed the astrologer into a large chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Braziers in each corner provided enough light for Kelley to clearly see an iron box on the far side of the room, a good hundred feet away.



Kelley also saw the dead bodies.



A half-dozen blackened corpses within ten feet of the iron box, all contorted in various stages of agony. Closer to Kelley were another three bodies, less charred but just as dead. Back another twenty feet was another dead man. The last body was maybe forty feet from where Kelley stood behind a rope that stretched the width of the chamber.



"We've been trying to determine the minimum safe distance for examining the object," Roderick explained. "We open the box and see if a man can live. If he doesn't, we move back ten or twenty feet and try again."



"You used live men for this?" Kelley swallowed hard, felt ill.



"Prisoners." Roderick pointed at the closest body. "That fellow was a horse thief, I think. The object emits some sort of invisible, destructive rays, not completely dissimilar to the sun waves I told you about earlier. Naturally, they called me in to lead the experiments. Rudolph is most excited by the find."



"This seems too dangerous to fool around with."



"There is always a certain amount of risk in discovery." Roderick reached for a thin rope dangling two feet away. "This line is attached to pulleys which will open the lid of the box if I pull on it. That's how we were able to safely open it when we sent the prisoners out. You can't see much from here, but would you like a look at the object?"



No. Kelley didn't want to see it. He wanted to run out as fast as he could, screaming all the way. His ass-brand flared a warning. Kelley winced and said, "Yes. Let me see it."



Roderick pulled the rope, and the iron box's lid creaked open.



A rock. That's all it was, a rock about the size of a dog's head. It did not glow or pulse. No screaming devils leaped from the box. A rock.



Then something. The room seemed to shimmer, like heat on summer cobblestones. A dark uneasiness crept into Kelley's gut, a sickly foreboding, the sudden acute certainty that sinister fingers probed him, reached inside his very soul. Any feeling of well-being left by Roderick's lens was utterly erased, leaving only the sour taste of decay.



"Close it," Kelley said. "Close it now, please."



Roderick released the rope, and the lid slammed shut. The sick feeling ceased immediately, like stepping away from a hot cook stove.



"Yes, best to keep it shut," said the astrologer. "We're at a safe distance, but better safe than sorry, eh?"



An acidic aftertaste lingered in Kelley's mouth. He turned away and spit. Rude. "Sorry about that."



"I did the same thing the first time," Roderick said.



"It's..." Kelley shivered. "Evil."



"Come, come, my good man, no, of course not. Let us conduct ourselves as men of science. Good. Evil. Terms peasants use for things beyond their understanding."



"Yes. Of course. I think I just need some air. Maybe we could go back now."



"Understandable. Yes, some fresh air will do you well, my good man."



Kelley followed Roderick back to the surface, memorizing every twist and turn in the dungeon. He would tell Edgar. The Society must know. This thing must be destroyed or hidden. Kelley was as sure of this as he was of his own existence.



Only a simple lump of rock, yet Kelley felt as if he'd looked into the eyes of hell itself.



TWENTY-FOUR



I didn't know at the time, but I was already dead. The dose of radiation I took would eat at me, and in a few short years that would be it. Like John Wayne and those other film stars, who got zapped in the desert without even knowing it, the whole time chasing stuntmen painted up to look like Red Indians.



Anyway, Allen is nearly naked and in the company of an attractive young lady. My guess is you'll find that much more interesting than my little tale of woe.



GIRL TROUBLE



TWENTY-FIVE



Allen stood in his dorm room, a white towel wrapped around him, pulling clean clothes out of his duffel bag. He felt nearly human again after the eternal night, a hot shower having washed away the stale beer and sweat and cigarette stink that had clung to him. He still needed sleep, but at least he didn't feel disgusting.



A second later the door opened and Amy slipped inside, shutting the door quickly behind her. "Nobody saw me."



The towel barely contained her. Amy's blond hair hung past her shoulders, a tight bundle from wringing it out. The smell of wet, freshly shampooed girl made things stir beneath Allen's own towel. He turned away, his cheeks going pink.



"We can't stay long," Amy said. "They'll think to look here sooner or later." She tossed her pink outfit onto the floor underneath the bunk bed. "And I'll need some clothes."



"I'm not sure what I have that will fit you," he replied, spilling the contents of the duffel onto the top bunk and sorting through the wrinkled, hastily packed clothing.



"We'll make it work." She stood right next to him and began to pick through the clothes.



Her bare shoulder brushed against his chest. It was so warm and soft that Allen thought he might faint. He moved away from her before he embarrassed himself. This was no time to be thinking of her tan skin and her red lips and how easily that towel could fall to the floor, revealing her ripe-



Stop it. Think of baseball.



Allen knew nothing of baseball.



Then think of Emily Brontë.



Somehow that was worse.



"I like that." Amy pointed at his chest.



Really? Allen had never considered himself a spectacular physical specimen. His chest was flat and hairless. He was, overall, a skinny, pale, and nerdy individual. Maybe Amy liked that sort of thing. Maybe she was a Ben Folds fan.



She reached out and took the crucifix in her hand, her fingers brushing against his chest where the cross dangled from the chain. "It's smart to wear it."



Allen shivered at the slight contact. He was making a tent in front of his towel. He turned away, and the crucifix slipped from Amy's hand. He sat on the bottom bunk, his back to her. "What's that on your shoulder?" he asked, referring to a tattoo about the size of a nickel.



"It's the Society's mark," Amy said. "It's the Freemason symbol, but with a pentagram in the middle instead of a G."



Allen lay his head on the pillow. "I think I just need a quick nap." A monster yawn swallowed his face.



"We can't stay here."



"Just five minutes." Allen closed his eyes. "I'm exhausted."



She sighed. "Me too."



The narrow bunk shifted with her weight as she scooted in next to him, her bare shoulder touching his back, her slender pink foot brushing his calf.



Are you kidding me? His erection was so full and painful that he thought he might need medical attention. He recalled a Viagra advertisement he'd seen on cable. For erections lasting longer than four hours, please consult a physician. This is how he would die, Allen thought. To come through a night of abductions and machine-gun fire only to die of an excessive hard-on.



Amy yawned. "Just five minutes. Then we have to move."



"What if I went to Father Paul?" Allen said. "Explained that I have nothing to do with this. I could get on a plane, go straight back to the States."



"He wouldn't believe you, and besides, it isn't true. You're his link to Evergreen. The Vatican wants whatever Evergreen is after, that's for sure. I'm telling you, your best chance is to stick with me. We'll get word to a Society elder and get this all figured out. In the meantime, the only thing we can do is avoid being captured or killed."



They lapsed into silence. In thirty seconds, she snored lightly. A minute later she rolled over against him. He felt her chest rise and fall against his back with each breath.



Forget it. You barely even know her. Just go to sleep, idiot.



And somehow he did. Deep fatigue seeped into his bones, sapped him, pulled him into downy slumber.



"Allen. Alllleeeeeenn."



Oh, hell.



He wore the ruffled shirt again, found himself jogging through a green, misty forest. The voice kept calling his name. The fog swirled in so thick that it swallowed the trees around him. He glided through it, his boots touching down on cobblestone. The fog parted to reveal an iron gate and a stone wall, a graveyard beyond, large monuments as looming and eerie as a scene from a Hammer film.



Allen knew it was a dream. Or was it more? Some kind of visitation.



Cassandra stood at the gate, and Allen felt chilled to look upon her. She wore a bloodred dress, the half moons of her white breasts erupting from her bodice. This seemed less Brontë to Allen and more Harlequin. The entire scene seemed a bit off, in fact, fading in and out of focus as the fog ebbed and flowed.



"I can barely reach you, My Allen." Cassandra's voice sounded as if it came from the far end of a long tunnel. "This place." She gestured to the cemetery. "I cannot enter here. You must go. It is your task."



"Why?" Allen's own voice sounded too loud. "What's in there?"



"My life."



Cassandra slowly melted into transparency, blew away like smoke on the wind, melting into the fog.



"Wait!" shouted Allen. "What's in there?"



The fog closed in, and everything went gray.



Allen opened his eyes.



How long had it been? More than five minutes certainly. Amy still curled next to him, her warm breath on his neck. He checked himself and was never so happy to find himself flaccid. Now maybe he could get dressed with a minimum of embarrassment. He propped himself up on one elbow, prepared to nudge Amy awake.



A light knock at the door. "Allen? Are you in there?" It was a familiar voice.



The door opened slowly. A young woman stuck her head inside the dorm room. "Allen?"



Penny.



Allen pictured himself hovering over Amy, both of them in towels, and realized how it must have looked.



"Is that you, Allen?" Penny opened the door wider, allowing light from the hallway to stream in. "My flight got in yesterday late, so I waited until- Who the hell is that?"



Amy's eyes flickered open, and she saw Penny. "Hello."



Penny crossed her arms. "Hello yourself."



TWENTY-SIX



A my slipped into a pair of Allen's gym shorts, then pulled them tight with the drawstring. She knotted the too-large, red T-shirt (which read CCCP in yellow letters) at the waist and somehow made the outfit work. Meanwhile, Allen turned his back to the girls and put on boxers, jeans, a dark green T-shirt, and socks and running shoes.



"I'm sorry," Amy said to Penny. "I know you came to visit your friend, but we have to leave now. This is extremely urgent."



"Yes, I saw how urgently you both occupied the bottom bunk without any clothing," Penny said. "Perhaps urge is the key element in the word 'urgent' in this case."



"Damn it, Penny, you don't understand," Allen said, spraying deodorant under his shirt. "A lot has happened since I've arrived."



Penny's eyes shifted to Amy, then back to Allen. "Yes, I see you work fast."



"This is serious. I don't think Father Paul is the person you think he is."



Allen tried to explain the late-night firefight, the special-forces priests bursting in, the flight to the secret witches' lair beneath Zizkov, the story of the philosopher's stone. He tried to imagine how the story sounded.



It sounded like bullshit.



"I've known Father Paul a long time," Penny said. "There has to be a rational explanation."



"Maybe you didn't hear the part about the machine guns," Allen said. "He tried to kidnap me."



"Actually, it sounds like your girlfriend and her pals kidnapped you and Father Paul was trying to rescue you," Penny said.



Allen opened his mouth, paused, closed it again, and turned to Amy. "She has a point."



"The Society is only trying to help," Amy insisted. "We're the good guys here."



Penny scoffed. "That's debatable."



Allen shook his head. "I don't know what to think."



"Whatever you think, we can't stay here," Amy said. "Now let's move. Please."



"I have a place," Penny said.



Amy and Allen looked at each other.



"Well, they won't think you're with me, will they? We can go to my place and figure things out," Penny offered. "I'm sure you're wrong about Father Paul."



Amy chewed her thumbnail. "I don't know. You might not want to get involved with this."



"Listen to me, new girl." Penny jabbed a finger toward Amy. "I've know Allen a little longer than you have. I've invested a good bit of time in him, and I'm not ready to see him machine gunned or kidnapped. Let's get one thing straight right here and now. I'm on board for the party now, you get it? So if it's so damn important we get out of here before the sky falls, then let's shut up and get moving. Anyone got a problem with that?"



Allen blinked at her. "When did you get so assertive?"



Penny smiled, lips tight. "Get used to it."



They caught a tram a block from the university.



"You have metro passes, right?"



Amy and Allen both shook their heads.



Penny sighed. "They'll give you a ticket if they catch you riding the tram or subway without a pass. We'll have to risk it for now."



"Penny, this is dangerous," Allen said. "I don't think we should get you involved."



"Oh, just... shut up."



The tram took them over the Charles River and back past Letna Park. They entered a much less touristy part of the city, and Allen recognized the working-class suburb as Holešovice from The Rogue's Guide.



"The next stop is ours," Penny said.



The tram squealed to a stop, and they piled out with a dozen others, mostly Czechs scattering back to their homes. Penny led Allen and Amy down a side street. The neighborhood became residential. They stopped in front of a narrow, two-story house constructed of dull gray stone.



"Three of us went in on an apartment," Penny said. "We thought it would be more interesting and more comfortable than staying in the dorms. Come on, we're upstairs. An old couple live on the bottom."



They trudged up the stairs along the side of the house, and Penny unlocked the door and let them in.



Amy went ahead of them, peeking into every room. "Are we alone?"



Allen and Penny followed her. "I think," Penny said. "Blanche and Ian don't arrive until next week. I came over early to see you."



"Who's Ian?" Allen asked.



"Nobody that has anything to do with you," Penny said.



The apartment consisted of three bedrooms, a sitting area in the middle, and a kitchen with a small table.



"I call the furniture Commie Surplus," Penny said. "It all looks like drab leftovers from the fifties."



Allen dropped himself into a padded chair of faded orange. Some kind of fake leather. Amy helped herself to the narrow couch.



"There's nothing in the refrigerator, I'm afraid," Penny said. "I'd planned to hit the market later."



"Can I use your phone?" Amy asked. "I think I'd better get in contact with my people."



"There's no phone."