Vampire a Go-Go(25)

The door swung open and an old woman entered. She had steel-colored hair and deep lines at her eyes. She wore a black pantsuit, starched white blouse, and a bloodred brooch at the throat. An apple-cheeked man in a slightly garish pin-striped suit followed her, closing the door behind him. They stood crowded up against the desk.

“Professor Fay,” the old woman said, nodding at him. Her companion nodded too.

“Margaret. Blake.” He returned the nod.

“There is bad news out of Prague,” the old woman reported. “Our people were hit hard, scattered. News trickles in, but we don’t have the complete picture.”

“The Vatican?”

Margaret nodded. “A crack squad of Battle Jesuits, if I’m reading the situation correctly. The cardinals are giving us top priority, it seems.”

Fay steepled his fingers under his chin, sat back in the oversized leather chair. He considered the bad news. Jackson Fay was a lean man, with straight shoulders and eyes so green it seemed as if someone had airbrushed them. He had thick black hair with streaks of white above each ear, and a sharp chin and cheekbones. He wore a tan tweed jacket and a muted red vest.

“We have perhaps overreached,” Fay admitted. “What does the Council say about withdrawing our operation?”

“There’s more,” Margaret said. “Evergreen is apparently very close to the philosopher’s stone.”

“A little too damn close for comfort, if you ask me.” Blake’s voice had a mild Irish lilt.

Fay leaned forward and rested his elbows on the enormous desk. “That’s not acceptable.”

Margaret shook her head. “No.”

“The stone in Evergreen’s hands would be… problematic.”

Margaret nodded. “Yes.”

“Suggestions?”

Blake cleared his throat nervously. “We think our position toward Evergreen should… ah… be taken to the next level.” He tugged at his tie, as if he was suddenly uncomfortable.

“We want him killed,” Margaret clarified. “Before he gets the stone and uses it.”

“That has already been attempted,” Fay told them.

Margaret raised an eyebrow. Although the Society bylaws allowed the high councilman to take emergency actions without consulting the rest of the Council, the elimination of a rogue member would usually be seen as significant enough to call a meeting.

“And are we convinced he even knows how to use it?” Fay asked.

“The Council would prefer not to take that chance.” Margaret shrugged, a slight movement.

“What if,” posed Fay, “we let our Mr. Evergreen find the stone?”

Blake made a vague choking sound and tugged at his tie again.

Margaret asked, “To what end?”

“Finding it is the hard part,” Fay said. “It would not be so difficult to then take it away from him.”

The old woman considered, then said, “Naturally, if the stone were to come into our possession for safekeeping, that would be best. Perhaps our people could even divine a way to destroy the blasted thing.”

“I suppose,” Fay said. “But that’s not precisely what I meant. What if we could find a way to use the stone ourselves?”

Blake went pale. Margaret frowned.

“This could be one of the most powerful arcane items in recorded history,” Fay said. “Can we not harness its power, use it for our own purposes?”

Margaret and Blake looked at each other. Tension grew thick in the room.

“I would oppose such a scheme,” Margaret said. “As I believe would the rest of the Council.”

Blake nodded apologetically. “Yes, I’d quite have to agree, old chap. Just too damn risky, don’t you see?”

Margaret’s eyes were hard as granite. “I think our high councilman understands our feelings in this matter.” Her gaze remained unwavering, locked on Fay.

Another long tense moment.

Fay sighed, relaxed back into his chair. “Naturally you’re right, Margaret. You too, Blake.”

The old woman’s gaze softened microscopically. Blake actually laughed, wiped sweat from his forehead.

“As high councilman, it’s my responsibility to consider all possibilities. I hope you can appreciate that. Still.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice and encouraging the others to lean in to hear him. “There is one minor aspect of this situation you may have failed to consider fully.” He reached for a small, wooden box at the corner of his desk and lifted the lid.

Margaret raised an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Fay reached into the box with thumb and forefinger, pinched out a small portion of the dull silver powder within. “This.”

Fay blew the powder into her face, harsh syllables flying from his mouth immediately after.

The dust particles hardened to tiny diamond shards, blasting the old woman’s face, shredding flesh and bone. Blood sprayed against the door and wall behind her. A scream began somewhere deep in her throat, but it was cut short as glittering death flayed her tongue, turned the back of her throat into hamburger. She dropped dead onto Fay’s expensive Persian rug.

“Bastard.” Blake looked appalled, confused, betrayed. Terrified. His hand glowed blue-green as he raised it toward Fay.

Fay was already out of his chair and across the desk. He grabbed Blake’s wrist and twisted, the karma bolt discharging harmlessly into the ceiling.

With his other hand, Fay thrust a thin dagger into Blake’s gut.

Blake grunted, eyes going wide. He looked down where Fay still held the blade in his belly. A silver skull at the end of the hilt grinned up at him. Blake’s mouth tried to form words. Fay twisted the dagger, and Blake coughed blood.

“Anticlimactic, isn’t it?” Fay said, acid in his voice. “All of the intricate and deadly magic at my disposal, yet you meet your end with a simple dagger thrust.”

Fay jerked the blade out and thrust it home again. “Never underestimate the mundane.” Blake twitched. Fay gave another stab to be sure, and Blake’s eyes rolled up like cartoon window shades.

Fay let the man go, and Blake fell facedown across the desk, a pool of blood spreading to a stack of ungraded essays on King Arthur and the Holy Grail.

He looked from Blake’s dead body to Margaret’s ruined face. The sweet sensation of power still hummed along his bones. He’d been itching to try out the spell he’d used on the old woman. It had felt exactly as good as he’d anticipated. No heroine junky could know this feeling, no coke-head. And it was getting more difficult to reach this euphoria each time. Jackson Fay needed the philosopher’s stone. He’d outgrown the Society, had long suspected his personal ambitions would have forced him to make some sort of decision like this sooner or later.

And he’d never liked Margaret anyway, possibly because he’d been able to tell she’d never really liked him. A shame about Blake, though. A nice enough fellow, eager to please, but ultimately useless and a bit weak.

Fay took a pocket handkerchief from his jacket, wiped the blood from his hands and dagger. Fay appraised the mess he’d just made. There was no time to deal with it now. A simpler aversion spell would keep people out of his office until he had time to tidy up. He really should try to discover a simple spell that made dead bodies disappear.

He picked up the phone and dialed the extension for his department’s administrative assistant. “Edna, can you book me a flight to Prague? Right away, please.”





TWENTY-EIGHT




Two hours later, Jackson Fay sat aboard a Virgin Airways flight to Prague, sipping a glass of Pinot Noir and contemplating the savage things he would do to Professor Evergreen to make him divulge the secrets of the philosopher’s stone.

But a mere twenty minutes after Fay left the still warm bodies of his fellow Council members lying on his office floor, the red gem of Margaret’s brooch began to glow at her throat, dully at first, then more brilliantly. A stranger walking his basset hound below Fay’s office window paused to consider the sudden red glow, then shrugged and went about his business.

This is when Margaret joined me among the legions of the untimely dead. I wish I could have been there to show her the ropes. Still, she seemed to have a natural talent for it. In her own limited way, Margaret made a reasonably effective ghost.





TWENTY-NINE




The tram let Allen off at the edge of the residential neighborhood across from Letna Park. Had it really only been twenty-four hours since Allen had been here to supervise Evergreen’s strange delivery? It seemed a lifetime ago.

Now he would get answers. He would make Evergreen give him answers. After all Allen had been through, he could not find the brusque professor intimidating anymore. The guy owed him an explanation.

He entered Evergreen’s building and knocked on his apartment door. No answer. He knocked again. “Professor Evergreen?” He tried the knob. It was open.

He went inside.

“Professor?”

Allen noticed the suitcases straightaway, stacked in the entranceway next to an old-fashioned-looking steamer trunk. So they’d arrived. Good. Allen stepped into the apartment. The large crate Evergreen had been so concerned about was nowhere in sight. In a swivel chair across the room, Evergreen sat at a desk with his back to Allen.

“Professor Evergreen.”