by Aiden James
I didn’t like the way that sounded. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t fear me, my brother,” he said. “I’d like to call in a favor to have a car and enough men to convince your son to travel to Abingdon. Beatrice and Amy should be easier marks to convince if Ali agrees to go first.”
“There can’t be any physical coercion involved,” I said, unable to mute the menacing tone in my voice. “That would be bad.”
“Why do you always threaten me when you feel insecure?” Roderick eyed me impishly. True to form, he rarely takes my threats to heart. “I’ll disguise their abduction as an urgent move to get them to safety, maybe even use our present threatened status as the motivator to get them to leave Ali’s condo and journey to the fortress. After all, if Dracul does subdue either of us, he won’t stop. His need for vengeance is unquenchable, and he will seek to satisfy it with Ali’s and Beatrice’s blood, possibly Amy’s blood, too.”
“Yes, that’s my assumption as well.”
“Once Ali sees the seriousness of the situation, I believe he’ll come around.”
As intuitive as Roderick is, I thought he was incredibly naïve about this. Alistair wouldn’t react well to being manipulated, whether by words or by force. If anything, it would make him much more inclined to pursue us. Thank the Almighty I never mentioned our final destination of Montenegro to Beatrice. Otherwise, my boy and possibly his fiancée would arrive in Budva by tomorrow afternoon.
“So you think,” whispered Roderick, glancing out the passenger window next to his seat.
“What?”
“You know well enough,” he said, eyeing me wearily. “Just see how it goes after I reach my contacts.”
I nodded thoughtfully, while throwing up a mental shield in hopes it would hinder his invasion into my head. I had far too much to consider without fighting off his probing, and unwanted, sentience.
Before long, the plane’s captain announced we could loosen our seatbelts and move about the plane, and, most importantly from Roderick’s viewpoint, access the aircraft’s WiFi system. While he fired off his message to Margolise, I reviewed our upcoming itinerary and the most important aspects of our trip.
We were to pick up our rental car in Podgorica, and it would take us roughly another hour and a half to reach Budva. This time, the choice of staying in a five star hotel, the Hotel Astoria, was in hopes of avoiding a bloody confrontation with Dracul, his henchmen, or even his fledgling vampires.
“Okay, the email has been sent, and Margolise sent me her personal acknowledgement icon to let me know she has already read the contents,” announced Roderick, proudly. “We should hear something from Louis Sterling’s staff within the hour.”
“You’re still dealing with Louis?” I asked, incredulously. “I thought you swore him off after what happened with the efforts to intercept Viktor Kaslow from entering Bolivia last November?”
“Yes, I did write him off, or almost,” he confessed. “He no longer does favors for me outside the continental United States. However, he remains quite reliable in terms of procuring the manpower and other resources needed for an assignment like this one. Besides, do you have a better idea?”
“You obviously know I don’t,” I said, returning to the itinerary’s details as they scrolled across my iPad. “But I can think of better ways to ingratiate an idea with Alistair. What if he gets the asinine idea to pursue us here? Then what?”
“He won’t. The three of them will stay in Abingdon,” he said, turning to face me. His eyes lay mostly hidden behind his expensive lenses. But from what I could discern, they appeared to be closed. Relying on clairvoyance? Likely. “You are correct in thinking they won’t happily await for our return to the States. But, again, I do not foresee any of them wandering the streets or beaches of Budva.”
“Is that a house wager? If so, I’d like in on that action.”
“Your reliance on humor to mask your unease is juvenile.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, snickering at his touchiness. “And your refusal to consider any ‘what ifs’ that might take the luster off a prediction is beyond annoying.”
Roderick’s turn to nod, he smiled and raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Touché, my brother,” he said, chuckling. “I suggest we respect the fact we both are looking at the same glass, though your perception sees it as half empty and mine sees it as half full. There is room for both views, and perhaps my optimism and your pessimism will be reversed before our journey to Budva is resolved.”
Normally, such jousts between us fizzle without further consideration. But, Roderick’s closing words stayed with me, and I found myself uttering a silent prayer they were not prophetic. At least I had something new to chew on while we finished our journey to Podgorica. New possibilities of what could possibly work out well for us, and what might prove disastrous.
* * * * *
Getting out of Podgorica proved easy enough, and we were on the main highway by four-thirty that Monday afternoon. Traveling by train would’ve been quicker, but having a car as a possible getaway source seemed to be the wiser choice. Besides, if Roderick wasn’t correct about Dracul’s residence being in or near Budva, a car gave us more immediate options to rectify that potential problem.
That was my opinion, anyway.
We checked into the Hotel Astoria shortly after six o’clock, and after a quick dinner overlooking the beach we headed downtown. Standard logic wouldn’t necessarily help in determining the layered illusion supposedly waiting for us from Dracul. But we went with a version of common sense anyway, visiting the oldest part of the city first. A place that preceded my existence by more than five hundred years.
The locals refer to this area as ‘Old Town’. In truth, it has always been Budva’s trademark, and is a sandy peninsula that once was an island. Legendary even when Roderick and I first visited this area of the Adriatic coast eighteen hundred years earlier, it remains the biggest tourist attraction in the area.
The ancient walls of this section are a huge draw, and have survived at least two major earthquakes, in 1667 and again in 1979. The walls form the cornerstone for the labyrinth feel of the place, because of the braided streets, squares, bulwarks and towers. No wonder Dracul chose to be close, since this certainly fit his taste.
“Do you think he would be so obvious as to set whatever trap he has in mind for us in the citadel?” I asked, as we approached the city’s oldest standing structure. It appeared deserted and locked up. “I see it’s a theater now, one that’s apparently closed on Mondays.”
“Hard to say,” said Roderick, looking around warily. I felt a cold chill traverse along my spine. “He’s watching us.”
“He feels close.”
“Yes, he does,” he agreed, turning away from the citadel/theater. He began walking back to where the car was parked. “We’re wasting our time here. I could almost feel him laughing at us.”
He was right, that’s exactly how it felt.
“Then where is he? Or, better yet, where does he want us to go?” I said, getting increasingly irritated. Yeah, I know...like I should be in such a hurry to die, right? “Is this part of the game?”
“What, like foreplay?” Roderick chuckled and picked up his pace. “I just received an image of an immense dark castle, somewhere near water. No, that’s not quite right…the place is surrounded by water, lots of water.”
“Could be another dead end,” I said. “Especially if he knows you are getting mental images, this might be nothing more than another session of ‘toy with the druid’.”
He laughed, shaking his head as he continued to move back to the parking garage where we left our rental.
“I’m serious!”
“I know you are!” he called over his shoulder. “You might be right, Judas. But one thing is for certain. He isn’t here.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because the images of the castle are getting stronger…as much as I would like to not follow them, I feel it
will be worse for us if we don’t hurry to try and find this place. It’s somewhere on the coast, and if we go now, we’ll still have plenty of daylight to see it.”
Roderick’s sense of urgency won the battle over my desire to stay longer and have a better look around in ‘Old Town’. Unlike our casual pace from Pedgorica to Budva, and from the hotel to the older section of the city, he drove the Camry we rented with near abandon, and almost ran down a pair of bicyclists on the main road back to the beach. Following his inner voice, he took us further south and let up on the gas as he became calmer. Then, without warning, he pulled the car over and parked in front of one of the many scenic beaches the area is known for. At the moment, it appeared to be crowded with tourists and local sun-worshipers alike.
“So, are you looking for some cryptic clue beneath a sunbather’s umbrella that will lead us further on this wild goose chase?” I asked, smiling wryly.
“Shhh! Let me listen for a moment.” He stared out the windshield as if expecting such a clue to suddenly appear among the beach tenants, or the rising tide sending deeper swells toward the shore. Only a handful of surfers braved the bigger waves, and other than a few sailboats in the distance, the sea sat empty. The shoreline, on the other hand, was teeming with swimmers in the shallow depths while couples walked close to the water. “Come on, let’s go have a look.”
He exited the car, and without waiting for me, hurried toward what looked like an abandoned pier from long ago. The structure was missing most of its planks, and only the rusted steel supports remained. An ancient dingy was tied to the end of the pier, roughly two hundred feet from the shore.
Roderick jogged through the sand, dodging several volleyball players as he moved past their net. I ran after him, concerned by his careless behavior, as so unlike him. He stopped when he reached the steps leading up to the pier.
“What in the hell is this about?”
He ignored my question, removing his glasses and squinting his eyes as he gazed toward the deeper depths far beyond the pier. I followed his eyes but saw nothing, and in fact noted nothing unusual—not even a hint of the creepiness we had experienced in ‘Old Town’. However, a slight mist drifted toward us from the sea, just beyond the pier, and spread out along the shoreline in either direction.
Hardly detectable at first, only a few people around us seemed to take notice until the mist thickened.
“It’s here,” he said, finally. “Or, the road to it is here.”
“What do you mean?” I honestly had no idea what he babbled about. “What’s here?”
“Dracul’s palace.”
“In the middle of the sea?”
“No, it sits on an island.” He turned to study me, and seemed surprised we were surrounded by other people. People, I should say, whose stares were drawn to Roderick’s face. He quickly put his glasses back on. “I’m beginning to think this is much worse than either of us could’ve anticipated. The island is out there right now…and yet, it’s not.”
“What?! Like we’re dealing with multi-dimensional shit again? Please say I’m wrong.”
I followed his gaze as it returned to the deeper waters beyond the pier. Roderick shook his head incredulously, while I awaited more details on what his perception picked up.
“Maybe it’s nothing,” he said, finally. “Maybe this is part of the maze…the illusion in the game that might reach other levels beyond the physical, and beyond normal acuity….”
His voice trailed off as he looked to the right of us, where the mist had thickened to a fog above the waves that crashed against the shore. A couple with a dog became briefly invisible, and seemed oblivious to the mist, until a dozen adolescents kicking a soccer ball hurried past the startled pair.
The youths, all boys and apparently local, chased the ball as it careened toward where we stood. Instinctively, I reached out to catch it when one of the boys kicked the ball toward Roderick and me. The kid, a striking blue-eyed blonde with dimples, smiled sheepishly and ran over to where we stood.
“You should be more careful, “ I said to him, using the Serbian dialect I remembered from long ago, and prepared for him not to understand, since modern Montenegrin is the official tongue taught in Budvan schools.
He nodded shyly and took the ball from me, bowing before taking a step to rejoin his buddies, who wore similar awkward smiles. I assumed he had merely read my tone and facial expression, but then he stopped and looked back at us, this time knowingly.
“Dracul looks forward to your attendance tonight at his palace,” he said, in English delivered with a strong Slavic accent, surprising us. “Return here at midnight. His coachmen will be waiting.”
The lad ran to rejoin his mates.
“Hey, wait!” Roderick called after him. “What’s your name?”
He took a step back toward us and stopped, and the knowing smile turned mischievous.
“Mortis is my name,” he said.
“And your family name?” Not sure why it mattered to me, but I suddenly thought this youth might be blood related to our nemesis. “Do you live around here?”
He laughed as if my question inspired hilarity, and his buddies joined in. Roderick and I glanced at each other, warily.
“Do you have such a name, Judas?” he retorted, and I scarcely recognized the boy who humbly approached us just a minute ago. “At least my name is genuine, and not a name intended to deceive. Same for you, Mr. Cooley.”
What the hell?!
“Just make sure you’re both here at midnight,” he advised, again, when all either Roderick or I could do was stare at him as mutes, dumbfounded. “My master is most cruel when people disappoint him.”
He turned away and this time the entire group ran back from whence they came. I would certainly understand the expectation of these kids suddenly disappearing into thin air as they moved further down the beach. But we were able to watch their progress until their images grew too faint to track. We missed most of a gorgeous sunset settling in the west as a result. All the while, the foreboding feeling from earlier worsened.
Chapter Six
The beach wasn’t deserted until shortly after 11:30 p.m., despite an earlier curfew. Not that we waited around the entire evening for our dreaded appointment. Believing this might well be the end of our nineteen centuries of shared existence on planet earth, Roderick and I returned to our hotel room to bathe according to our ancient customs. Then we dined at the Stari Grad after the concierge gave the restaurant high marks. To her credit, the octopus ragu was better than either Roderick or I imagined it would be.
After sharing a few drinks and reminiscing on seldom visited highlights from each century before the onset of the twenty-first, we drove back to the parking area looking over the beach just before eleven. Three days shy of its fullness, the moon’s bright beams danced on the water, illuminating the dilapidated pier clearly enough to see the dingy from earlier bobbing in the waves at the pier’s far edge.
We warily approached the pier, listening intently for any signs of activity, either from the living or the semi-dead, awakened once the sun disappeared along the western horizon. Nothing. Not so much as a soft breath or subdued heartbeat reached my ears. The stillness across the entire deserted beach was unsettling, as if all of nature wanted to observe our fate from a safe distance. Only the tide’s waves offered assurance the earth carried on without a care or opinion about us.
“What time is it?” Roderick asked me, bringing my focus back to the task at hand.
“You mean the moon dial in your pocket no longer works?”
He shot me a pained look that I answered with an impish grin. Hey, the moment called for a dash of levity. At least I thought so.
“Eleven-fifty-seven,” I said, after checking the pocket watch I decided to bring along that night. As of late, my cell phone served as my preferred time-tracking device. However, it lay dormant in my pocket and would serve as a backup should it become appropriate to dial 911 from the depths of Dracul’s dungeons.
“I guess we should keep an eye out for the soccer kids again, huh?”
“You know him, Judas,” said Roderick, tersely. “Your thoughts and words aren’t helping. Stay focused on the ripples in the air…. I sense another illusion is coming. Maybe not as dramatic as a dozen teenage boys accosting us, but something.”
“Something fun? You mean those brats weren’t just a bunch of miscreants from a local reform school?”
That brought a sterner look, but then he whipped his head toward the east. It took me a moment to detect what had embraced his advanced senses.
“The kids seemed real,” I said, quietly, when he remained focused on the area where we had last seen Dracul’s youthful messengers. “You’re sure it wasn’t something else involved…maybe spirit possession?”
“You make it all sound like a joke,” he replied, quietly, while his gaze remained fixed upon the deserted beach. “I know you are trying to keep things light, but it isn’t working. And, as for your point, yes, I believe it was a form of possession. But it happened long before you assume. The mist was Dracul’s means of influence, and while we were admiring the mist like a pair of buffoons, he was scouring the area for the right messenger. The right….”
He didn’t finish his words; distracted by a sound once common to this area just over a century ago. The sound of horses neighing and pounding the sand as they raced toward us. The horses sounded quite real, and yet were invisible. A thick mist billowed toward us from the east, and under the moon’s glow I saw the top of a large black carriage. The mode of transportation Van Helsing claimed Dracul preferred most in the nineteenth century.
“Here they come,” I whispered, surprised by the literal truth of the advisement by the kid named Mortis to us earlier. I could feel the swell from Roderick’s growing terror. I suddenly remembered more from the night he nearly died at the hands of Dracul in Madrid, with enough details peppering my awareness to inspire immense guilt for being so damned jovial a moment ago.
