Chapter Two
"This
is kidnapping." I was doing surprisingly well at keeping a
reasonable tone to my voice. "Federal offense."
Not
that I wasn't grateful: I had apparently been rescued from . . .
well . . . something. But now my so-called rescuers
refused to stop the vehicle or return me to town.
"I
mean we are talking way beyond vandalism, destruction of
property, assault-" I looked at Mooncloud
"-impersonating a doctor."
"Obviously,
you haven't been listening." This from the woman with the
crossbow who had by now introduced herself as Lupé Garou. A
slight French-Canadian accent seemed to authenticate her last
name while the cloud of smokey, brown-black hair and
coffee-with-cream complexion made sense of her first.
"Oh,
I've been listening," I said. "I've heard every word
you've said since we left town. The problem is I'm just not
buying!"
"What
part are you having difficulty with?" Garou asked.
I
sighed and leaned my forehead against the dashboard.
"Be
patient, dear," I heard Mooncloud murmur. "This is all
rather new to him."
"Okay,
let's start with me." I sat back up, turning to Mooncloud.
"You say that I'm a vampire. I'll play along for a moment
and pretend that there really are such things." I opened my
mouth wider and ran a finger around my incisors. " 'Ook, ma; nah fahgs." I withdrew the
finger. "Can't bite necks and suck blood without
fangs."
Mooncloud
was unfazed. "Mr. Csejthe, I did not say that you are a
vampire. I was explaining that you appear to be in the
transitional phase. A rather long and uncharacteristically drawn
out phase, I might add."
Hoo
boy.
"Yeah?
Well, how did I get started on this so-called phase?
Where's the bloodsucker who's supposed to have bitten me?"
"That's
what we're in the process of trying to determine."
"But
you are not being very cooperative," Garou added.
"I'm
not being cooperative? I'm not being cooperative? I want
to go home! Or back to the radio station. A crime has been
committed, property destroyed-the authorities have to be
contacted. Good God! They'll think I was responsible!"
Mooncloud
shook her head. "You can't go back."
Garou
chimed in. "You're going to have to face the fact that you
are a dead man-both figuratively and literally."
"Look,
lady, don't threaten me! I've had it up to here and if you keep
pushing-"
"You'll
what?" she asked coolly.
I
stared back, holding her gaze for a long moment while I tried to
think. "Wet my pants."
"What?"
"I
gotta go." I turned to Mooncloud. "Or are you planning
on driving all the way to Seattle without bathroom breaks?"
The two women exchanged looks. "Oh great! You were! You
really haven't planned this out, have you?"
"We
planned on having more time to convince you."
"We
hadn't counted on one of Bassarab's hounds showing up so
soon," Garou said.
"Whatever,"
I said, waving my hand. I had no intention of being sidetracked
now. "Pull over."
"Lupé
and I will decide when and where to stop, Mr. Csejthe."
"What
is the big deal here?" I gestured toward the windshield.
"We're in the middle of nowhere. Kansas back roads at three
A.M. No traffic. Nothing but cornfields in every direction for
miles. Where am I gonna go?" My captors exchanged a look.
"Except behind a bush."
Mooncloud
nodded and began slowing the Winnebago.
"Find
me a spot with some bushes. I'm modest."
"I
don't like this," Garou muttered.
"It
will be all right, dear," her companion said. "I think
once we're done here, Mr. Csejthe will be a little more
trusting."
Garou
scowled but nodded. "And, perhaps, a little less
testy."
Gravel
crunched as the RV eased over on the road's shoulder and coasted
to a stop. Mooncloud killed the lights. Garou opened the door and
swung down. Brandishing the crossbow, she gestured to a clump of
bushes straddling a barbed-wire fence. "Two minutes, no
more. You run and I'll shoot. I can put a bolt through your leg
at thirty feet."
I
forced a smile as I stepped down, noting that the shrubbery was
no more than twenty feet away. The crossbow came up and tracked
me all the way across the ditch and over to the fence.
"Where are you going?" she demanded as I spread the
strands of fence wire.
"Behind
the bushes, madam. Or would you prefer an 'I'll show you mine if
you show me yours' arrangement?"
Garou
looked back at Mooncloud who nodded. I eased my body through to
the other side of the fence.
I
had already decided to make a break for it in spite of the
crossbow. The odds had to be better than getting back in the
vehicle with two escaped lunatics. Now that I was behind the
bushes, on the other side of the fence with a cornfield maybe
thirty feet beyond, it almost looked too good to be true.
The
real danger would be those first ten yards without cover.
"Hurry
up," Garou called.
"Hey,
sweetheart," I called back, "I need to relax for the
plumbing to work, and you're not helping any. These things take
time, so shut up and let me concentrate!" I crouched down,
hoping that would end any dialogue for the next couple of
minutes.
"Lupé,
we might as well give Mr. Csejthe some slack right here,"
Mooncloud was saying, "or else how are we going to convince
him of the truth?"
A
dark shape glided overhead, an owl hooted, and I missed her
reply.
"Here,
give me the crossbow," Mooncloud said. "You can climb
into the back and change now. It will save us all time."
I
parted the foliage and peeked back at the road, surprised at how
well my night vision was operating, especially with so little
moonlight escaping the barricade of clouds. Garou scowled but
finally acquiesced, handing the medieval weapon to Mooncloud. I
didn't wait to see any more but dropped to my hands and knees and
began crawling toward the perimeter of the cornfield.
"Mr.
Csejthe," Mooncloud called, as I left the hiss and crackle
of dry grass and began creeping across the quiet dirt, "this
is to prove to you two very important points. One: you cannot
escape. And two: that we are not mad but know very well of that
which we speak."
That
did it. It's the crazy ones that make just that kind of speech.
I
slipped between the cornstalks with nary a rustle and rose
halfway to my feet. Rogers & Hammerstein wrote a little ditty
in which "the corn is as high as an elephant's eye"
but, by midsummer in Southeast Kansas, it was only as high as a
man's shoulders. I hunched over and made like Victor Hugo's
bellboy of Notre Dame, hoping I was far enough in to prevent any
rustling stalks from targeting me.
"Don't
hurt him, Lupé," Mooncloud called as I moved deeper into
the field. Another thirty feet and I dropped to my belly and
began crawling at a right angle to the rows, working my way
through columns of cornstalks. Suddenly, I stopped crawling and
pressed my cheek to the dirt, listening. There was a susurrus of
leaves as something else entered the rows of greenery. And the
patter of feet.
Two
pairs of feet.
Very
light, somewhat small feet.
A
dog running loose, I thought, following the trail I had made into
the heart of the corn. Did these women keep bloodhounds in the
back of the camper for such exigencies?
I
raised my head and reached out to crawl through the next row.
My
hand encountered a shoe.
Empty?
Groping
upward, I encountered an ankle, a leg.
Looking
up, I saw a giant white spider dropping toward my face: a hand.
Cold, implacable fingers closed on my collar and I found myself
suddenly ascending, rising into the night sky to hover with my
feet off the ground, the tops of the cornstalks now just barely
reaching my waist.
"Urk!"
I said defiantly, staring back at the red-eyed man who was
holding me off the ground with just one arm.
"So,"
hissed the holdup artist, "yer da one dat's put us ta all
dis trouble." Then he smiled.
Imagine
Jack Palance.
Doing
a Jack Nicholson grin.
Displaying
Bela Lugosi's eyeteeth.
With
Arnold Schwarzenegger's accent it would have been a certified
Ex-Lax moment. Somehow the Brooklynese made my assailant sound
like Cliff Claven on old Cheers reruns; I might have
snickered had I not just entered the second stage of
asphyxiation.
The
roaring in my ears became a growl and a dark grey shape hurtled
across my shrinking field of vision. The next thing I knew I was
lying in a tangle of broken cornstalks, gasping for air.
"I
command you!" the man shrieked as the silver-and-grey furred
beast bore him to the ground. "I command you!"
The wolf snarled and redoubled its efforts to tear out the man's
throat. It almost succeeded. Then an ivory fist connected a
roundhouse swing and the animal went flying past my shoulder.
"Unnatural
bitch!" the man hissed, rising to one knee.
"Abomination! I will teach you your place! I will show you
who's master! I will-"
He
stopped suddenly, looking down at the wooden shaft that had just
planted itself in his chest. Mooncloud stepped through a row of
cornstalks, reloading the crossbow with another sharpened dowel.
It wasn't necessary; the man fell backward, pale fingers
wriggling about but not quite touching the bolt in his chest. His
body writhed, smoked, then crumbled to dust, leaving an empty set
of clothes behind.
Porphyria, my ass!
Maybe
Spielberg or Lucas could've topped it, but it was better than any
Hammer flick I'd ever seen and the Brits had set the standard.
"You
okay?"
I
fumbled for an answer before realizing that Mooncloud had
addressed the wolf. It whined a bit, limping over to sniff at the
ashy remains of our assailant.
Time
to leave: I tried to ease backwards, through an adjacent row of
corn, but the crackle of crushed stalks betrayed me: the wolf
turned its head, growled, and trotted toward me.
"Lupé.
. ." Mooncloud warned.
The
wolf placed its paws on my shoulders and stared down at me with
green eyes, its breath like a furnace on my face. Then the muzzle
changed-withdrawing, absorbing back into the creature's face.
Eyes migrated. Fur retracted. Ears slid downward, revising their
shape and configuration. Forget Spielberg and Lucas! Close up
this was way beyond any ILM computerized morphing. I was now
looking up at the face of Lupé Garou. Looking down at a body
that was undeniably human and definitely feminine. Not to mention
unclothed.
Oh
my.
"We'd
better get moving," Mooncloud said, breaking the spell.
"Mr. Csejthe, do you still need a bathroom break?"
Lupé
was already up and disappearing in the direction of the road as I
looked down again-this time rather ruefully.
"Not
anymore."
I
emerged from the RV's closet bathroom with a towel wrapped around
my waist. "You didn't tell me that there were facilities on
board." I clutched at the doorframe as the rear suspension
compensated for a pothole. "We could have avoided the whole
bush and cornfield routine."
Mooncloud
stood over the propane stove and stirred the contents of a small
saucepan. "You needed to make the attempt and we needed to
prove to you that escape was not possible. I needed Lupé to
retrieve you so that you would believe our credentials."
Ah.
"That
guy-"
"The
vampire," she coached gently.
"The
vampire," I conceded reluctantly. "That was a nice
touch. Most convincing. The frosting on the cake, as it
were."
"We
didn't expect him. We should have: Bassarab's enforcers usually
travel in pairs and he wouldn't have sent just one for an
intercept so far from home."
"Whoa,
whoa; you're losing me here. I'm just getting used to the idea of
vampires and werewolves being for real." I staggered the
length of the camper shell and sat on a padded bench beside the
fold-down table. "Uh, Ms. Garou is a werewolf . . .
right?"
Mooncloud
nodded.
"Well,
you've mentioned this Bassarab guy twice now. Who is he and why
does his hired muscle sport fangs? And why are they after
me?" I arranged the towel for comfort and modesty as I
stretched out my legs. "For that matter, why are you two
after me?"
She
sighed. "I'm afraid, Mr. Csejthe, the answers to your
questions are a bit complicated."
No shit.
I didn't say that, however; I just looked at her.
"Let's
start with vampires. For the sake of argument, you will admit in
the possibility of their existence?"
I
nodded. I could do that-admit to their possibility-without
buying a membership in the club for myself.
"There
is ample reason for your skepticism, Mr. Csejthe. First, most
human beings do not have a close encounter with the undead and
live to tell about it. Second, the wampyr have a vested
interest in keeping their existence a secret.
"While
the Children of Bassarab tend to be solitary predators, they have
learned that they must cooperate to preserve their anonymity. If
any of them threatens the secret of the wampyr, that one
is hunted down by agents of its own kind-enforcers-and destroyed
lest it betray all others of its bloodline."
"These
enforcers, they were after me."
Mooncloud
nodded, adjusting the heat under the saucepan. "Agents of
the New York enclave. Their ruler is supposed to be a direct
descendant of the original Bassarab and has taken his name. That
is as much as we know. Beyond that it is not hard to guess at
basic motivations. Your existence is more than a scientific
curiosity, Mr. Csejthe. Your medical documentation is a threat to
the unmasking of enclaves everywhere."
"Enclaves?"
Garou's
voice crackled from the intercom: "Merde! Must you
explain everything to this pup? Let the Doman tell him what he
will. No more."
"The
Doman?"
Mooncloud
sighed. "Lupé, you are only adding to our guest's
curiosity-"
"Guest!"
"-and
making my attempts to reassure Mr. Csejthe that much more
complicated. You drive and let me worry about the
explanations."
The
intercom grunted.
"Or
I shall send our guest up to sit in the cab with you and let you
answer all his questions."
Oh,
great.
There
was a tinny growl from the tiny speaker but no further comments.
"Enclaves,
Mr. Csejthe, are population centers where vampires gather and
agree to live under a set of laws that insure food and safety for
all. The leader of this social underground adjudicates the laws,
settles disputes, and looks after his own. He-or she-is known as
the Doman for that particular enclave. New York is the largest,
but Seattle, where we are taking you, has a fairly strong enclave
as well."
"What
if a vampire does not wish to retain membership in an
enclave?" A tangy aroma was beginning to fill the air and my
stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten for the past
two days.
"Most
enclaves will permit members to apply to other demesnes. Both
groups must agree to the transfer and that can be complicated by
issues such as resources, competition, questions of
loyalty-"
"I
mean, what if a-" I hesitated over the word "-um,
vampire-didn't want to be a member of any enclave?"
"Then
he or she would be considered rogue. And nearly every rogue is
hunted down and destroyed for the safety of the enclaves."
Swell:
no undead is an island. John Donne would have approved. I tried
to concentrate past my growing hunger pangs. "Why is one
vampire more likely to expose himself than a whole colony?"
"Think,
Mr. Csejthe." She turned off the burner and moved the
saucepan to the sink. "Vampires tend to beget two things:
bloodless corpses and other vampires, either of which threatens
to take bloodsucking monsters out of the tabloids and put them in Time and Newsweek.
The enclaves have developed systems for undead population
control, ample but safe food supplies, and the means of disposing
of corpses and covering up such faux pas if such should
occasionally occur."
"Sounds
like a bloodless society."
"Mon
Dieu!" the intercom squawked. "He thinks he has a
sense of humor!"
Mooncloud
hit the OFF button on the intercom. "Would you like
something to eat?"
I
nodded and watched her ladle the soup into a bowl. "So
what's to become of me? That-um-"
"Vampire."
"Okay,
okay: vampire! Seemed more inclined to take me back dead
than alive. Or should I say 'undead'?"
"I
cannot speak for the Doman of New York. I am here at the will of
Stefan Pagelovitch."
"So
what does he want?"
Mooncloud
put the ladle aside and turned to face me. "I have lived
among the wampyr for most of my life and I have devoted
years-decades-to their study. I know everything that they know
about their existence, their history. More, in fact, than
most." Her eyes narrowed. "But all that I know-all that
is known-pales into insignificance beside the questions that
remain unanswered to this day. There is still so much that we do
not know. For example, why do some victims rest quietly in their
graves while others come back as the Children of Bassarab? We
know that a two-way exchange of blood between the vampire and
victim is significant . . . but not conclusive. You, Mr. Csejthe,
may be the missing link in our research."
She
turned and picked up the bowl of soup. "Our Doman has sent
for you, Mr. Csejthe, and offers you his protection." She
set it on the table before me. "What we have done this night
may set us at war with the New York enclave, with Bassarab,
himself." She handed me a spoon and napkin.
"When
Lupé said that you were a dead man, she meant that there was no
going back to the life you have known. Whatever has altered your
blood and metabolism may eventually lead to your death. Or your
undeath. But the process has begun and you have entered a state
of Becoming. Bassarab will not permit you to run free. And,
frankly, neither can we. We offer you sanctuary. A chance to make
a new life that will accommodate the changes you are going
through."
I
lifted the first spoonful of soup to my mouth. "And this
Bassarab? Just who is this guy?" I swallowed, feeling saliva
flood my mouth and throat.
"As
I said, we don't really know for sure." Mooncloud came and
sat down across from me. "The Bassarabs were a great dynasty
of the Vlachs, ruling Walachia and fighting off invasions by the
Mongols, Turks, and Hungarians back in the fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries. Various princes ruled under the names Vlad I
through Vlad IV. One of them was so bloody and evil that he was
known as Vlad Drakul-which means Vlad the Dragon or Vlad the
Devil. His successors, according to legend, were as bad or worse:
Vlad Tepes is known to this day as Vlad the Impaler and Vlad
Tsepesh was called the Son of the Devil-Drakul, with the
diminutive 'a' added to the end."
I
looked down at my bowl, which was nearly empty. "You're
saying that this Bassarab is Count Dracula?"
She
shook her head. "We don't know anything beyond the fact that
he claims to be a Bassarab. News from the East Coast has become
unreliable these past several years and all we have to go on is
rumor and innuendo. But, as you said, his enforcers did seem more
inclined to bring you in dead rather than alive. In fact, I'm
sure they had something to do with last night's murder in that
Joplin hospital."
"Why?"
"I
believe Dr. Marsh relayed some of your blood samples through the
Missouri labs and the New York team was backtracking your records
to find you and destroy all existing evidence. The fact that a
hospital employee was killed means that they were either
desperate or sloppy. But still very, very deadly. You're lucky
that we found you first."
I
digested these words with the remainder of my soup. "Thank
you," I said finally. "For everything, I guess, if I'm
to believe even half of what you've told me." I pushed the
bowl across the table. "The soup, too. My appetite hasn't
been too normal, lately. I'd forgotten how good tomato soup could
taste."
"Tomato
soup?" Mooncloud smiled.
I
frowned. "There was something else in it-kind of tangy, like
V-8 juice. Secret herbs and spices?" I asked hopefully.
Her
smile grew broader.
I
considered the coppery aftertaste in my mouth and suddenly felt
my legs go rubbery. "You're not going to tell me . . . to
tell me. . ." Fortunately I was sitting down.
"Some
of it was tomato soup, Chris. And, yes, I did add some V-8 juice
and a dash of salsa to the mix. But . . ." Her smile grew
terribly wide.
I
looked down at the remnants of my meal coagulating at the bottom
of the bowl.
The
worst part was that I had actually enjoyed it.