Vampire a Go-Go(42)

“Lars, come here,” called Zabel.

“Oh, shit,” said the head.

Allen was still trying to pull the trigger. He couldn’t believe it.

“For Christ’s sake,” Zabel said. “Give me that gun before you hurt yourself. You can’t harm me, but you’ll shoot your own foot off if you keep-”

The window exploded behind him, the wolf leaping onto the desk amid a glittering rain of glass. Penny wore a torn strip of tablecloth around her eyes to protect herself from the subliminal spells.

Zabel screamed.

Allen, who’d known it was going to happen, screamed anyway.

“I can’t see,” yelled the head. “What’s happening?”

The wolf zeroed in on Zabel, snapping its jaws, growling. Zabel tried to retreat, but Penny’s powerful jaws clamped down on his upper arm. He screamed again, hit the wolf on the side of the head with his free hand. “Lars!”

Allen tossed the gun aside, leaped forward, and grabbed the Kelley diary off the desk. As he turned, he bounced off the chest of a gigantic wooden monster. He sat down hard on the floor, then looked up at the thing made of patchwork bits of wood, like some kind of murderous arts and crafts project gone horribly wrong.

The monster reached out.

I’m going to die, Allen thought.

The monster grabbed the wolf by the scruff of the neck, flung it against the far wall. The wolf crashed with a pained yelp, knocked pictures off the wall.

Allen crawled past the golem’s legs, the diary tucked under one arm. “Everybody out!”

“How am I supposed to do that?” shouted the head. “I have no legs.”

Allen scooped him up by the hair and dashed from the room. He took the stairs three at a time, hit the ground floor hard, and sprinted for the front door. He opened it, ran through, didn’t bother closing it behind him. He hit the middle of the street, searching for Amy.

He glanced back at Zabel’s second-floor window. Had Penny made it out? The plan had been to scatter after Allen got his hands on the diary, but if Penny needed help then-

Fire exploded from the second-floor window, shook the street, chunks of brick and mortar pelting Allen and the sidewalk and street. Tourists screamed and scattered.

Another blast of fire, and the wolf flew through the window, fell limply, changing in midair, fur melting back to flesh. By the time Penny hit the street she was human again, naked and smoking.

“No!”

Allen rushed to her, knelt, set Pascal’s head aside and scooped her into his arms. She was unconscious but alive, hair and eyebrows singed, covered with scrapes and bruises. “It’s okay, Penny. I’m here. You’re fine. You’re okay.”

Amy appeared at his shoulder. “Oh, my God.”

“I thought you were getting a taxi,” Allen said.

“I did.” She gestured at the smoking window. “He took off when the world exploded.”

The head faced Zabel’s house. “Ha. Burn, baby, burn. Take that you son of a-ack!” The head choked, coughed, and spit out the bloodstone.

“Oh sh-” Pascal’s eyes rolled up, and he was gone.

Allen cradled Penny to his chest. “She should never have come for us. She should have called for help instead.”

“She did,” came a voice from behind them.

Allen whipped his head around, saw Father Paul standing there with another big priest.

“We’ve got a van around the corner,” Father Paul said. “Bring her and hurry. In about two minutes this place will be a logjam of police and firemen.”





FORTY-FIVE




Ten seconds after Allen left with the priests, a wooden monster emerged from the smoking doorway of Zabel’s home. The golem carried Zabel like a hurt child.

Once they cleared the doorway, Zabel coughed and wiped his sweaty, ash-smudged eyes on a sleeve. “Let me down, Lars. I can walk now.”

The golem set him on the ground. Zabel leaned over, put his hands on his knees, gulped clean air. He stood straight and looked back at his home, flames in the windows and doorway. In the distance, the sirens grew louder.

So many of his tools and materials, valuable items he’d collected over a lifetime. All up in smoke. Damn them.

He replayed recent events in his mind. It had happened so fast.

The wolf had burst in and attacked him, would have likely savaged him to death if Lars hadn’t pulled it off of him. Then Zabel had unleashed his most deadly spell, but the wolf had darted behind his desk, and the sturdy piece of furniture had absorbed the brunt of the firestorm. A second spell had blasted the beast back out the window, but not before half his office had been aflame. The smoke had overwhelmed him. He would surely have suffocated if Lars hadn’t carried him out.

He motioned the golem to follow him, and they ducked down an alley. Lars was not exactly inconspicuous, but Zabel had some quality ingredients stashed in his car. He could put together a few spells, form a plan to make them pay.

One thing was for sure. Sooner or later they’d show up at the Vysehrad cemetery.

A particularly large raven perched atop a rusty weathervane across the street from Zabel’s burning home. Everything it heard was heard by its master, Jackson Fay. Everything the raven saw, Fay saw. Everything it tasted, Fay tasted. This included a caterpillar and two especially sour black beetles.

Fay didn’t enjoy that.

The raven watched as Zabel emerged from the smoking doorway, then led his wooden behemoth down a back alley. He wondered why Zabel had used wood. Maybe that was all that had been handy. Cheap material. Economical.

When Pascal had not returned from Prague, Fay had strongly suspected he would need to pay Zabel a visit. Probably the man knew something of the stone as well. Whatever Zabel knew, Fay would know soon enough.

Fay watched as Zabel instructed the golem to lie down in the back of an older model Mercedes. He threw a blanket over the golem, then climbed into the driver’s seat, started the car, and began to drive.

Fay commanded the raven to follow.

Zabel would be a good test of Fay’s strength. Zabel was a decent enough wizard, but Fay felt confident he had the edge in talent and experience.

He’d make damn well sure he had the element of surprise.




* * *



Margaret floated through the gray void. She regretted the spell that had put her in this predicament. Her motivations were good-to warn her fellow Society members they might be in harm’s way. Fay was a dangerous rogue.

Only one last task kept her tethered to the real world. She had to find Amy. But really, what did she care anymore? The balance of magic. Evil wizards.

Such worries were for the living.





FORTY-SIX




The walls were mint green and chipped. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A twenty-year-old refrigerator rattled its swan song in the corner. Allen looked at the furniture, the chairs, the table; wooden and plain, scratched. A countertop next to the fridge held what appeared to be the first ever coffeemaker to roll off the assembly line.

Commie surplus. That made him chuckle. He put his head down on the table, tried not to see Penny’s limp body, tried not to hear the explosion again, glass and bits of brick raining down.

Father Paul had taken him across town, to the basement of a small Catholic church. The rooms below were surprisingly plain and bureaucratic, like the offices for the Department of Motor Vehicles in his hometown. Bland and depressing.

Allen heard somebody come in the room, and he picked his head up.

“She’s doing fine,” Father Paul said.

Allen sighed relief, sank in his chair. He was suddenly exhausted.

“She can absorb a lot of abuse in wolf form,” said the priest. “You saw Zabel cast the spell?”

Allen shook his head. “Just the aftermath. I told you. I was down on the street.”

“I know.” Father Paul lit a cigarette. “Just double checking some things. Quite a story.”

Allen looked around the room. “What is this place?”

Father Paul blew out a long stream of cigarette smoke before answering. “It was built by a secret order of albino monks.”

“What?”

The priest laughed. “I’m just fucking with you. KGB. It was the KGB who built it, back during the iron curtain days. The church was a trap to spy on Catholic dissidents. There was a group of priests back then opposing Soviet rule. Anyway, the bishop arranged for us to use the place for a while.”

“Am I under arrest?”

Father Paul shook his head. “We’re priests, Allen. Not cops. We can’t arrest anyone. I mean, we can kill you, but not arrest you. But don’t worry, we won’t kill you either. We really were trying to rescue you when we busted into the Society safe house.”

“That’s what Penny said too.”

“Do you want some coffee?” asked Father Paul. “I’m going to have some.”

“How about a Coke?”

The priest got up and looked in the fridge. “No Coke. Pepsi.”

“Okay.”

Father Paul poured himself a cup of coffee in a paper cup, brought Allen a can of Pepsi, and sat down again. He puffed the cigarette, waited.

“At first I just wanted to go home,” Allen said. “But now…” He shrugged. “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“Try.”

Allen thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t want to go home not knowing how all this turned out.”

Father Paul smiled. “We should make a Jesuit out of you.”