by Lynne Murray
“Agnostic,” said Bram. “I keep an open mind.”
“An open mind can invite much.” Sir John’s voice rumbled. He shook his head and chuckled grimly, “Agnostic vampire fighter. Most irresolute.”
“I’m not really a vampire fighter, Sir John. Until today, I’d have said vampires didn’t exist. I’m just fascinated by the idea.”
“’Tis in your blood, lad. No shame there.” The old man’s voice rumbled deep. “But you need to find some faith to arm you, whatever that may be.”
“You still haven’t answered the question, Sir John.” I wasn’t going to let him elude it. “Are you saying you are this Oldcastle who was martyred for his faith? Or if not, who are you?”
Chapter 38
Sir John Falstaff’s words
on black digital recorder, undated
Like a litter of helpless pups, but growing teeth to gnaw at me.
So I told them—as much as anyone could tell such mewling babes.
“You come from a gentler age.” I told them. “For all your time’s destruction.”
If you want to imagine the scene, this Oldcastle, I’ll tell you. I know him well as I know myself—no saint, but a soldier, earned his knighthood on the field of battle in his youth. In age, a man of good wit, literate, a gentleman. Yet he read the Bible in English. An act of heresy in that Church-ruled age.
This Oldcastle came to believe that matters of conscience were between man and his Maker without a priest to intervene, that the Church should not own property—are you surprised that they might burn a man at the stake for such views?
They spun rumors of an imaginary plot to kidnap the king, captured Oldcastle and bound him over to be burned at the stake. His king, the noble Henry the Fifth, turned his back on his old friend.
Imagine this Oldcastle, imprisoned in the Tower. In comes a lovely lady, slipping past the guards like a perfumed breeze. Her hair as dark as night and eyes as deep as oceans. Offers him a chance to live rather than die for his faith. Tells him he could live to see the future where his offspring would pay for what they planned to do to him tomorrow. Who would not choose life?
You protest that many saw the man burned alive.
But imagine a creature who could counterfeit young womanhood and slip past guards unnoticed, a creature who could win a man of reason, a man of faith, but also a man of appetites. Could not such a creature cloud the minds of a crowd come out to stand in a field to see a man burned alive? The master-mistress of this dark art could do that and more.
But doubt it not, the man who followed her into undeath did burn, and was reborn before he reached the state of ashes. The first and bitterest of step on the path of undeath was to learn that his new mistress spiced her amusements with the suffering of others. But she kept her promise and he did not die.
The creature he was bound to looked young and beauteous. Yet inside she was old and starved for wit, with no laughter to call her own. She had picked out the man for his sublime wit. The creature watched, and laughed, and it could not bear to let laughter die.
Let’s say that man lived, but at a price.
You ask if that price was his soul. Now that soul you speak of, like that elusive thing that they call honor, is invisible. Most difficult to measure.
The man might have wondered afterward if he had made a bargain with the Devil. A fair question. But one with no present answer. I could no more see my soul before my death than I can see it now. ‘Tis true I do owe God a death. But until that debt is paid in full, a vampire, like a mortal man, can only wait and wonder.
Chapter 39
Kristin Marlowe’s typed notes
August 7th continued
“However I came here, I faced death and chose life—even half life. So here I stand and deal with what is in front of me.” Sir John bowed as if applause had been offered.
“So you were kept alive to entertain?” I asked.
“Not a pretty fate. But a good wit will make use of anything. If I could turn diseases to commodity, then I could conjure up a smile from a grinning skull and live a season as court jester to an undying ruler. Yet escape fell in my way and I took it. Returned to London, near two centuries after leaving, and found much changed. The Protestants in power, the Catholics hunted, and the Bible read in English. Even so, the name of Sir John Oldcastle was vilified for gluttony and debauching youth. Another immortality stemmed from a chance meeting in a tavern. Tales spun for a balding man with a honey tongue and ink-stained fingers, a poet and player. You know the man.”
“Shakespeare,” Vi and I both said reverently.
Chapter 40
Hal Roy’s spoken notes
silver flash drive/voice recorder
August 8th
Jack came over on an ocean liner in 1939, stowed in the hold, shipped as a load of diplomat’s personal property to avoid customs.
Grandfather, who was with the State Department, wanted Reba out of Europe before World War II broke out. She told me she won Jack in a poker game from a countess, but I always wondered if the Englishwoman who gave him up simply couldn’t cope with World War II and Jack at the same time.
The price Reba demanded for going peaceably back to San Francisco was shipment of some crates of household furnishings. Her father asked no questions—if Reba was smuggling, he didn’t want to know. The crate around Jack’s coffin had a special latch so he could emerge at night to feed, and lock himself in during the days to sleep safely.
Once in New York, Jack’s crate was loaded into the baggage compartment of a San Francisco-bound train.
Jack told me Reba installed him in her basement at first. Something happened. Neither of them said what, but soon he was exiled to the shed. She reinforced the windows and doors and had a new crate built around his coffin. She padlocked the door at dawn to keep out daytime intruders. Sir John could have gotten out if she forgot to let him loose—he was strong enough to simply break the door. But she always opened the lock to get her daily dose of whatever he gave her when he took her blood.
Whenever I came back, I would wait at dusk to hear him rise from his box. Eventually I brought a few trusted friends, Ned and Lucy, to meet him. He charmed them, as he did everyone. But Sir John did not drink their blood, and he never let us meet any other vampires—except a crazy woman who showed up from time to time. Sir John always stopped whatever we were doing and took her away. He told us all never to go near her, as she might kill one of us as casually as we would kill a fly. Looking at the madness in her face, I could believe it.
Lucy was a big favorite with Sir John. He never admitted it, but she told me later that he took her off to meet another vampire and granted him permission to feed from her. Lucy’s eyes got dreamy and she said it was the most intense pleasure she had ever had--and Lucy was a dedicated sensualist.
No matter how often I asked, Sir John refused to introduce me to other vampires. I think Ned went along with Lucy to meet the other vampire, but he refused to discuss it. He knew how crazy it made me that he and Lucy could get something I couldn’t.
“I’m sorry I ever introduced you to him,” I said to Lucy. She just laughed. “Why can’t you take me to see that other vampire?”
“We don’t know how to reach him. He finds us, doesn’t he, Ned?”
Ned said nothing.
“So the other vampire—it’s a man, right?”
Lucy smiled and winked at Ned, who turned away.
“Could you ask him to make you a vampire? Then you could drink my blood.”
“Hal, that is so sweet!” Lucy patted me on the cheek. “I’ll try to remember.” Then she slapped me, just to prove she was unpredictable—she was like a kitten that purred and then bit. “But I do get so distracted when he feeds—it’s—”
“Better than sex. You told me that already. What if you refused to let him drink your blood if he didn’t make you a vampire?”
Lucy laughed. “What would you do if I refused to have sex with you, Hal?”
�
��Go somewhere else.”
She laughed again. “You do that already, and everybody knows but Mina. Well, this vampire is the same. Besides I don’t want him to stop.”
“There’s a way around this, and I will find it.”
“Good, because I want to become a vampire.” Lucy stretched out with the total relaxed abandon of a playful kitten. “I think it would be the perfect birthday present, and I’m a Scorpio, so you know my birthday is coming up soon.”
Part II: THE DEATH GATE
Chapter 41
Hal Roy’s spoken notes
silver flash drive/voice recorder
August 12th
I had to find the others. But how?
Jack never spoke about other vampires in the city except in whispers to the crazy woman. She might have been a vampire, but I took his advice and stayed away from her. She didn’t seem to speak much English, just babbled in a strange dialect that he spoke to her as well, and I could scarcely catch one word in ten. But Jack did tell her to stay away from the others. So there must be some other vampires walking the streets.
You would think after all this time with Jack that I could pick a vampire out of a crowd, but I could not. Jack refused to teach me any such thing. He was blocking me out, and I hated it. I’d already tried watching him for years and he never led me to these other vampires. After Jack moved his crate out of the shed, I was back to watching. Now all I had to watch was the shed.
A few nights later I saw a tall, thin man trying the lock. I approached to within a few feet. He froze without turning around. “He’s not there anymore.” The man turned. For a moment all I saw was a cadaverous face, then I realized it was my aunt’s lawyer. “Mr. Morford.”
So he was a vampire. Now that I thought about it, he came to my aunt’s house whenever she needed to sign papers, and he always arrived after dark. I assumed that was for my aunt’s convenience.
He seemed to be following my calculations with an expression half of hunger and half of anger. “Where is he?”
“When my aunt moved into the rest home, the shed turned up empty. I can open it up and show you.”
“Go ahead. Maybe I can find some clue as to his whereabouts.”
I brushed past him to open the padlock. Morford moved back farther than he needed to, to let me at it.
From the way he looked at me the few times I had met him before I had assumed he was gay, and now his hungry gaze made me wonder if it was really my blood he wanted. I’ve never been attracted to other men, but now I consciously moved closer to him, flirting with him. I wanted to become a vampire so badly that he could have asked anything of me. He seemed to guess that.
I opened the door and he slipped past me, carefully not touching me to get in. He looked around, large nostrils flaring, casting around for a scent like a tracking dog.
“Yes.” He looked back at me as if he had to remind himself of who I was. Then he closed his eyes and sniffed the air around from a few feet away. My nerve flickered and I took a step backward. A chill settled over me.
Morford chuckled. “Don’t be afraid of me, Hal. I am forbidden to touch you. Yet he fed from the woman you slept with not so long ago.”
“Lucy!”
He laughed. “No, not Lucy.”
“Mina? No!” After protecting her so carefully.
He sniffed again. “No, not the young one—an older woman who lives next to a house with many cats.”
“Kris.”
“He fed from the woman with the cats as well. Their scents are mingled here, along with the scent of the hauling men who brought his casket out.”
“Mr. Morford, when you say you can’t touch me, does that mean you can’t turn me into—like you and Sir John?” I was afraid to say it. Afraid I had guessed wrong.
He laughed. “By our laws you belong to Sir John, though he never feeds from you.”
“You have your own laws?”
He stiffened, offended. “Of course we have our own laws. We are not animals.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that Sir John never told me any of this—and neither did my aunt.”
“The less you know of this, the safer you are.”
“But if Jack won’t do it and you aren’t allowed to, how can I become one of you?”
Morford shrugged and said nothing.
“Perhaps I should be approaching the others.”
“What do you know of the Others?” Morford gave a hiss that was close to a growl. I instinctively shrank back.
“I heard Jack tell his crazy lady friend they were dangerous. You know the woman who looks like a bag lady?”
“A sad case—it’s a miracle she still lives.” He paused and looked around the yard. He seemed to be seeing something I couldn’t see. “Dangerous is too mild a word,” he said in a low tone, his eyes darting round again.
“I might know where to find them.” I was bluffing.
He laughed, a short, humorless bark. “I tell you they are dangerous and you want to find them.” He shook his head. “Where, on the Death Gate? As a human with no vampire venom in your blood, I doubt you could see them if you stood eye to eye with them.”
He mused a moment. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You mean to use Lucy. That girl is too wild for this tame town. Has she seen something?”
I just smiled. No sense disclosing my ignorance.
“Never go near the Gate. I would go so far as to say avoid the Bridge because it intersects the Death Gate. Find them and your life will be over. Call for them and you will die—but not to rise again in any way you would wish.”
“Thank you for the advice.”
“Your aunt’s retainer covers advice on a wide range of topics, but I never expected to be talking to you about this. If you should ever be so unfortunate as to see the Others, listen to me—this could save your life. “
“What?”
“Ignore them if you can. Never, ever look into their eyes.”
He walked out of the shed. By the time I reached the door, he had vanished into the night.
There are several bridges in the Bay area, but only one that San Franciscans refer to as The Bridge.
Chapter 42
Hal Roy’s spoken notes
silver flash drive/voice recorder,
August 13th
It was midnight when Ned and I dropped Lucy and her bike near the security gate and drove out onto the Golden Gate Bridge. We pulled over to stop by the East walkway--which was totally illegal. The pedestrian lanes are locked up at nine p.m., but bikers can get buzzed through the security gate and that’s what Lucy did. We gave her a head start and planned to meet her in mid span with a story about picking her up if the police swooped down on us, which we half expected. It was windy and freezing above the bitter cold waters of the Bay below. Two or three cars passed in the fast lane. The toll booth attendants were invisible in their stations. There had to be police surveillance cameras on us. If nothing else, they must be watching for people who showed signs of trying to climb over the railings to jump.
I was hoping to contact these vampires quickly and get off the Bridge. But how? Lucy came pedaling up and we put her bike in the car. Still no sign of Bridge security. A car whizzed past us on the southbound side of the Bridge, heading to San Francisco.
“What the hell, here goes,” I said. “I invoke the Others. We seek knowledge and power from you.” It sounded dumb saying it out loud in the halogen-lit night, with the shudder of the Bridge walkway under our feet and the roar of the wind and water passing through the Golden Gate all around us. I looked at Lucy and Ned and shrugged.
“Come on, Others!” Lucy yelled. Then she spun around like a little kid, ran up one of the orange posts in a skateboarding move, and collapsed on the walkway in a laughing heap.
“Are you all right?” I stepped over to take her arms and help her up.
“Ow, I skinned my knee—look.”
Her skirt was short enough that the gash on her knee stoo
d out against her pale skin. “That’s a bad cut.” I leaned over, Ned came over to examine it too—either the scrape on her knee or how high her skirt hiked up.
Lucy stopped looking at her knee and stared past me as if someone were coming up behind me.
Before I could turn a rush of hot, damp air fell down over us like a breath from a fetid jungle opening up into the middle of the cold, foggy night.
A rush of gray, shark-slippery forms streamed past me to pile onto Lucy. Most of them were smaller than she was, but they filled the air around us, bouncing and floating as if weightless. They converged on Lucy. They swarmed over her in a mass that completely covered her, and seethed thickest around her cut knee.
Lucy screamed and reached out through the mob. I grabbed her hand, but the creatures pulled at her relentlessly, all of them gray-skinned, hairless and staring boldly with unblinking eyes as round and red as bicycle reflectors. A few of them opened mouths full of strangely reddened teeth.
Morford’s words came to me. “Don’t look at them. Ignore them!” I yelled.
“How can you ignore them?” Ned screamed.
“Don’t make eye contact,” I yelled. “Let’s get Lucy out of here.”
“Okay.” Ned stood. Lucy’s screams were strangely muffled. I couldn’t see her face under the seething mass of gray bodies.
Ned thrashed out to thrash at the slippery gray forms swarming over her. They simply floated out of reach and followed us. I felt the same hot, humid wind over my head and I looked up to see the cables and rails and towers of the Bridge covered with glistening gray forms. Floating without wings, they perched lightly on every surface. And they all turned their eyes toward me like a forest of glowing rubies.
“We’ve got to get out of here.” Ned’s voice was near my ear.
Lucy had stopped screaming and started laughing hysterically. A huge black sport utility vehicle in the northbound slow lane steered around our parked car and whooshed past. It didn’t speed up or slow down. In the haze of fear I realized that the driver couldn’t see those things. If he had he would have floored the accelerator and raced off that bridge and not slowed down till he ran out of gas or hit the Oregon border.
