by Pavel Kornev
"Follow me!" I commanded and started walking up to the second floor.
The bright beam of the torch danced and jumped from side to side, easily illuminating the dark corners. At the same time, I couldn't leave the thought that someone's cold eyes were watching us from the darkness.
Wishful thinking? Who the devil could say...?
We walked right past the second floor.
"First, let's check the Count's office," I decided, walking further up the stairs.
To my great surprise, I lost all desire to continue pursuing the unknown strangler; I was filled with the urge to turn around and run away without a second thought. And I don't even know what exactly stopped me from taking that shameful step, the left-over passion still raging in my blood or the fear of looking foolish.
I suspect it was more the second.
We walked up to the third floor. I walked into the hall and froze like a dead person when the I saw the flickering of a kerosene lamp in the flung-wide doors.
And a shadow! The shadow on the floor in front of the door was throbbing slightly, either crawling away in one direction or slinking away in the other. There was someone in the office.
The torch now off, I stuck it in my pocket and pressed my pointer finger to my lips. Ramon nodded, letting me know he'd seen the shadow, and was gathering strength for the fight.
I held onto my Roth-Steyr with both hands and walked forward. Walking soundlessly on the carpets leading down the hall, I stole up to the door and took a bounding leap into the office. Once there, I immediately stepped aside, making way for my partner.
I didn't shoot; I didn’t see any person. There was just paper strewn about, and filing-cabinet drawers snarling up at me from the floor.
But I made a mistake! Initially, my gaze just slid right over a figure sitting at the desk, as if it was just another shadow. The flame of the kerosene lamp was quivering behind the immobile man, turning him into a black silhouette like one of the slippery fish swimming thoughtlessly in the aquarium at the far wall.
I could only make out a cloak and a hat with a wide flat brim; nothing else.
Shadows, what a damned nuisance!
I drew my pistol, putting the stranger in the crosshairs, but before I managed – or got up the resolve – to pull down on the trigger, there came an unpleasant whistling half-whisper, just as ghostly as the shadows:
"It's no use!" The sentence echoed in my temples with a vile sting. I froze indecisively with my pistol raised. Ramon, though, didn't hesitate. His Winchester burst forth with a deafening thunder. Its dual spark tore the shadows filling the office to shreds, but the malefic wasn't moved in the slightest.
He made a theatrical pause, then looked at the bullet in his hand and said carelessly:
"You’re just wasting perfectly good cartridges."
Angry at the setback, Ramon clanked down the lever of his Winchester, throwing the spent casing onto the floor. But I stopped him, repeating the strangler's words:
"It's no use!"
The mysterious figure set the bullet down on the edge of the writing desk. Not only was it covered in frost, it was also deformed; the stranger's bony fingers had crumpled the aluminum jacket.
"Good decision," the malefic laughed. Then, with a magician's gesture, he pulled a box made of light-gray metal from thin air. I saw the lid. It was engraved with a jagged lightning rune. "I suppose this will be of interest to you, illustrious Mr. Orso?"
"Perhaps," I answered cautiously, guessing how to act.
Move from a position of power or show him how reasonable I could be? Attack first, or try to come to an agreement?
The bullet he crushed in his fingers made the first option seem futile; the ruthlessness displayed by the strangler had taken away all hope for the second.
So, what to do?
Ramon started walking in one direction away from the door. I went the other. The kerosene lamp was now not at the strangler's back but, even so, the dense shadows under his hat formed an impenetrable veil, hiding his face better than any mask.
"Guess where the Count is," the malefic commanded me calmly; he was stubbornly ignoring Ramon, instead turning to face me.
I made sure the desk was between us, and demonstratively holstered my gun.
"Even if the Count is in hell, I won't be too broken up," I answered, not especially bending the truth.
"Perhaps he is in hell," the strangler chuckled. "Would you like to take a look?" he asked, extending the box. He immediately pulled his hand back, though, as if teasing.
"Take a look?" I asked in incomprehension. Licking my lips, I asked: "Under what conditions?" I asked and immediately realized I'd just made an unforgivable mistake. Perhaps even a fatal one.
The strangler's relaxed demeanor was immediately replaced with predatory interest.
"You don't know what's inside, do you?" he asked, even taking a step forward. The flame of the kerosene lamp before his face forced him to stand up straight and move back, though.
For the first time, his whistling half-whisper did not cause a biting echo in my head, so I was able to formulate my answer more carefully in opposition to my previous, rushed bluntness.
"Do you?" I asked, watching a fiery moth wriggling on the window. "Do you know?"
"That doesn't matter," the malefic answered, and the shadows around him started moving like a constrictor wrapped around a circus performer.
One of the ghostly tethers slid up to Ramon and twisted around his ankles; my hulking partner froze half-step, and the barrel of his Winchester, originally pointed at the strangler, suddenly shook and began to turn in my direction.
With a fated sigh, I removed my dark glasses, but the glow of my eyes didn't throw the malefic off in the slightest. He just laughed:
"And just what do you think you're going to do, illustrious one? Scare me to death?"
"Take you with me to hell," I answered, and threw the lamp on the floor in a careless motion.
The glass immediately shattered. Kerosene poured out all over the office and caught fire. The flames reached the curtains almost instantly, flying up to the ceiling. The haphazardly strewn papers, turned over drawers and furniture then also caught in their turn.
Ramon threw his Winchester away and tore off his flame-ensconced cloak. He ran into a chair and started rolling on the floor looking like a human torch. The fire cut me off from the entrance door and chased me into the corner. But the strangler didn't lose his presence of mind. Or was it that he lost his mind in fear? In any case, he dashed toward the exit right through the fiery room.
I glanced at my timepiece, waiting for the right moment, but Ramon extended his hand to me and, begging, rasped out:
"Come on, Leo!"
Having decided not to test my partner's patience, I took the carbine off my shoulder and struck the aquarium wall with its buttstock. The water that poured out onto the floor instantly put out the puddle of burning kerosene and an impenetrable blackness took over the office again.
"Fires of hell!" Ramon whispered through his parched lips, peeling himself from the wall. "That hurt like hell!"
"Silence!" I hissed at him, walking over to the door and looking into the hallway, but the strangler's trail had already gone cold. I tried to listen for him, but the dense silence just rang in my ears.
Ramon stood next to me and whispered out barely audibly:
"Did he get away?"
"He got away," I confirmed just as quietly.
My hulking partner wiped off his perspiring brow and fell back into the armchair, sapped. He'd been struck by just a little echo of another's horror, but even still looked like one of the fish from the now empty aquarium.
"Will he be back?" Ramon asked when I turned on my electric torch and started studying the chaos I'd caused in the office.
"No," I stated confidently in reply. "But if he does come back, he'll see a burning house."
"How'd you do that?"
I just laughed:
"It’s all my
talent, old buddy. Or have you forgotten?"
The strangler was afraid of fire; I noticed him jump back from that kerosene lamp. He was obviously scared. All I had to do was pull on that thread at the right time to turn the puddle of burning kerosene into a raging fire.
Can terror magnify a threat? Indeed!
The aluminum box glinted up from the floor in the light of the electric torch; I pulled on my gloves and picked it up, but the lock was broken and the box was empty.
"Curses!" I swore, not hiding my disappointment.
"What are you on about now?" Ramon shuddered.
"Nothing."
"Nothing at all?"
"That's right!" I snarled. In a fit of anger, I threw the box into the corner and walked around the office, but I still hadn’t come to any definite conclusion on who was responsible for all this mess: was it the Count, and he'd fled, or the malefic who'd come after his soul?
"Leo, we need to get out of here!" shouted my hulking partner, trying to hurry me along as I shuffled through the burned papers strewn about the floor, now wet from the spilled water.
"We do," I agreed with him and stuck the bullet the strangler had crushed into my pocket. "But first, let's check the house."
We went through the whole mansion, but there was no one on the third or second floors, and all the servants down below were dead. The strangler was enviably methodical. He hadn't left anything behind.
"Where is the Count's family?" Ramon asked as we walked into the guest room.
"His daughter's at a boarding school, and his wife's at the spa." I answered. "Continental Europe. Neither we nor the malefic will reach them now. Well, at least we won't. That much is for certain."
"Will you search for the Count?"
"What do you think?"
"It's your business," Ramon replied, not trying to convince me one way or the other. He then suddenly pointed to the body of the servant girl spread-eagled on the sofa. "Hold up!"
"What is it?"
"Point the torch at her neck!"
I did what he said, and immediately noticed two dark blue spots on the dead pale skin.
"Well, tear me to pieces!" Ramon gasped. "There was a vampire here!"
An unpleasant chill ran down my spine; I forced myself to touch the dead girl. The body had already gone cold, but unlike the other victims, this one had just started to get rigor mortis.
"What have you dragged me into, Leo?!" Ramon whispered in fear and anger. "Malefics and vampires, just think! Even in Europe, there are practically no vampires left. All the more so here!"
"Well, the werewolf flew in from the New World, so why couldn't this vampire have done something similar?" I muttered.
"What for? Why the devil would he do that? What's happening, Leo?"
I dismissed my partner's concern and hurried to the exit.
"Let's get out of here! It's getting light out already!"
"No, just a moment!"
"You just can't wait to get behind bars, can you?" I asked with a frown, looking my friend from top to bottom.
"Alright, we can talk later!" he decided. I just had to head for the exit, but he grabbed my hand and stopped me: "Are you sure the malefic was alone?" he asked and first looked outside, his Winchester at the ready.
"Why wouldn’t he be?" I asked, surprised.
"How could he get through so many people all alone?"
"The shadows," I reminded him. "He had the shadows helping him. You almost shot me because of one of them, remember?"
Ramon was clearly shaken by the unpleasant memory. He loaded another cartridge into the tubular magazine of his Winchester and muttered:
"In any case, don't yawn!"
I nodded and took the semi-automatic carbine from my shoulder. The strangler definitely wouldn't be hurt by a rifle, but vampires tended to surround themselves with mortal helpers. So, I had to be careful with the weapon in my hands...
The high veranda of the mansion faced east. At the very horizon, the clouds were already turning a shade of faint pink, and I said quietly:
"It's getting light out!"
My hulking partner nodded, letting me know that he had heard my words, but not lost vigilance; he didn't believe the legend that vampires could be hurt by sunlight. To be perfectly honest, neither did I. So, in no particular hurry, we walked back to the armored car, not taking our eyes off the trees and bushes near the path.
The birds had already begun their normal morning bickering. From the tenant farms, I heard a rooster crow. The risk of meeting a random passerby was growing with every minute. Approaching the gates, we threw back the latch and ran headlong for the car.
Ramon took a prudent look under the self-propelled carriage and gave a nod:
"All clear!"
Then, I opened the tailboard and threw my rifle in it and taking out the steering wheel in its place. My partner ran up and extended his Winchester.
"Take it," he said.
I accepted the gun and groaned out:
"Dolt!"
"What are you on about?" Ramon shuddered.
"The casing!" I screamed. "You left a casing in my uncle's office! Fingerprints!"
"Curse me!" Ramon exclaimed, going bed-sheet pale. But he immediately overcame his moment of hesitation, grabbed the wheel from me and got into the car.
"Let's go back! Now!" he shouted, affixing the steering wheel to the column.
"Start it up!" I called out, and jumped onto the passenger-side running board.
The engine chattered to life; to the jingle of its very frequent popping, the armored car drove up to the gates, easily tossed them aside and drove onto the grounds of the mansion. When it hit, we shook hard, and the self-propelled carriage even went off-road onto the grass. But Ramon managed to turn the wheel in time and get back on track.
A moment later, we had arrived at the mansion. There, Ramon sharply braked, jumped out of the cabin and ran at breakneck speed into the building. I ran around and sat in the driver's seat, turned the car around to prepare to leave and raised the front armor sheet, which had been down on the hood until that point. Driving at night with an obscured windshield wasn't possible, but now, it was getting light out. The villagers were all waking up, and the last thing I wanted was for some eagle-eyed tenant to describe us to a policeman
The front door slammed again, and Ramon ran fervently down from the veranda into the car.
"Drive!" he shouted.
"Did you find it?"
"Yes!" he replied, catching his breath. "Drive, I said!"
And so, we drove. We didn't stop until we reached the city, not even to pour water into the radiator. Eventually, though, we found a dark passageway in the back yard of a factory to park the vehicle in.
Ramon ran to a station on the neighboring intersection with a bucket, and I started pacing around the self-propelled carriage, massaging my cramped legs and looking all around. My back was in unbearable pain, my head felt full of molten lead, and my arms were shaking in exhaustion. I felt out of sorts, but not at all because of my personal wellbeing.
There was something else bothering me.
"What should we do with the self-propelled carriage?" I asked my partner after he’d come back with water. "Everyone knew the Count and I were at loggerheads; I wouldn't be surprised if they came to search my place today or tomorrow."
"Is that even possible?" my hulking partner asked in surprise.
"What do you think?" I furrowed my brow.
"No!" he waved his hand in annoyance. "What about the quarantine? How will they get inside?"
"Sooner or later, they'll find an illustrious person with immunity to the Diabolic Plague. The armored car is direct evidence. We left too many tracks at the estate."
"Get rid of it," Ramon suggested.
"Not an option," I refused. "We might need it again."
"Leo! This tin can could land us behind bars."
I didn't even listen.
"Your cousin from Foundry Town..." I snapped my finger
s. "What if we brought the armored car to him?"
"Are you crazy?" Ramon's eyes grew round. "I'm not bringing family into this!"
"What about the coalhouse?"
The man began thinking, then nodded.
"You know, there are a couple other abandoned packhouses there," he muttered. "There's no way anyone will go into them before fall."
"Do they have separate vehicle entrances?" I clarified.
"Some do, yes," my friend confirmed. "Let's go!"
By that time, it had long been light outside and the recently-awoken people on the street were looking curiously at our police armored car, caked in mud from wheels to roof. Fortunately, there weren't many people in the outskirts near the coalhouse where Ramon now worked as a guard. Our only company was a pair of chatty mutts.
Ramon pointed at the set of gates, told me to wait and ran out. When he came back, he was holding a heavy keyring.
"Don't worry," he reassured me, undoing the rusty warehouse lock. That old drunk wouldn't wake up even if a ship's cannon went off next to his ear.
"Make copies during your shift."
"Of course."
The gates gave way with a ghastly screech. We had to put all our weight into throwing them open. I then drove the armored vehicle into the interior of the sooty packhouse. I turned off the engine and extended my partner a hand, all my energy sapped:
"Thank you! You really helped me out."
Ramon clenched my hand in his massive paw and asked:
"When will you be retrieving the reward for the banker's killer?"
"I'll deal with it this morning," I decided, looking at my timepiece and correcting myself: "Actually, it might be closer to lunch time."
"Don't draw it out," he demanded. "Alright?"
"Don't you doubt it," I promised, taking my cane and getting out of the cabin.
With our combined strength, we managed to close the warehouse doors, but only barely. Ramon put the lock back on, rubbed some coal dust on it and took a look at our handiwork.
"This will be fine," he decided.
It would have been good to take the right key off the ring now, but my weary thoughts got all mixed-up. My eyes were starting to close all on their own. The sleepless night and jitters had squeezed all the juice out of me. The only thing I really wanted now was to lie in bed and close my eyes.
