by Mark Lingane
"I've found some stairs," Angelina said.
Tucked away in the rear was a small opening that dived down into darkness.
"Come down to Cashing In downstairs," Angelina called.
"Is that a euphemism?" I called back as I took my first steps into the gloom. I stopped when I heard a creak in the room behind me, than continued down the stairs.
It was nearly pitch black in the stairwell. I could see her outline, strong and feminine, formed by the glow of a minuscule light. She wheeled around, and her face, illuminated by a match, jumped out at me. The flame went out and we were both left in complete darkness, with her pretty face and rebellious hair burning on my retinas.
Her feet scuffed the steps as she came up and reached out for my hand. I heard another scuffing sound behind me.
"Exciting, isn't it?"
She was still holding my hand, and I wondered who felt more secure.
Another match flickered into life and Angelina's friendly face lit up. The light caught the reflection of glass beside me and I turned to investigate. The glass was an old miner's gas lantern. It was full, and we soon had a soft golden glow creeping out into the darkness like liquid treacle.
In a room at the bottom of the stairs were ancient shelves that towered up to the ceiling, being called to the crumbling event horizon even as I stared at them.
"The whole place looks like it was built centuries ago," Angelina said. She ran her hand along the dusty shelves. "There are some very odd artifacts here."
"Like what?"
"Religious stuff. Really old bits of ..." She stopped and picked up an old painting. "I know her."
I moved closer and examined the portrait she was holding. There was an unforgettable face dressed in the clothing of an early settler, and some vaguely familiar Joe Schmo standing directly behind her, although the background figure couldn't draw me away from the figure in front.
"Are you all right?" I said.
"I'm not sure where I've seen her. Would you think I was weird if I said I'd seen her in my dreams?"
Most of the things Angelina said were on the far side of deranged, so I said, "No weirder than before."
She gave me a sideways glance before continuing with her exploration of the portrait. "This painting feels really old," she said, picking up the painting. She ran her hand along the frame, feeling the carved swirls in the ancient wood. "Everything's so dusty. I wonder if it's dirt or dead skin."
"Has the painting got a number?"
She flipped it over and read the number scrawled on the back. It was a number three, and that opened up at least two more questions.
I checked the nearest drawers, which also contained index cards. The numbers stopped at twenty. Angelina searched deeper in the dark room. She found one locker slightly ajar. She kicked it until it opened. There was a small pile of aluminum. She scooped it up and let it dangle from her hands. It was a pile of jewelry, necklaces and rings, all made from the cheap metal.
"What's this all about?" she said.
"Aluminum was expensive once," I said. "Then they invented smelting. All this would've become worthless overnight.".
She laughed. "Listen to you, Mr. Encyclopaedia Britannica. I've got this image of a stuck-up old lady thinking she's oh so clever investing her family fortune in aluminum jewelry, then being left with nothing but scrap metal."
"We don't have time for this, admiring the glitz while we're searching for the grit."
"But there are so many of these lockers, so old and full of ... things we used to believe in. In a way it's fascinating."
"And depressing," I said. "It reminds me of childhood."
I thought of the toys we have as children, and the ones we put away and forget about. They're so much of who we are and what we become, but we leave them behind so easily. Our beliefs are the same. We seem to want to cast aside the thoughts that kept us safe through those dark days of early civilization to show someone or something how grown up we are. Now we get sparkling idols.
I could see the desire in her eyes. Although the jewelry was worthless, it was still shiny and her attention was hard to dislodge, especially by someone whose life contained so little.
"Focus on the rood," I said. "You'll find it more rewarding than hoarding shiny trinkets."
"Maybe we should all have been doing that a bit more, rather than hoarding shiny trinkets."
At floor level in one far corner, Angelina found a small wooden case with rusted hinges. It was locked. She looked over at me and withdrew the brass key on the fine gold chain. I could see it faintly in the golden glow. The key fit. She turned it, and the box squeaked open.
"A dozen cards or so, and some ashes." She knocked the ashes out of the box and stood quietly for a moment, reading the cards one at a time. "I've got the card." She waved it in the air. "I wonder if this is a hoax." She came over and handed it to me.
The date read March 24, 1624.
I looked back at the painting, and flicked the card yellowed with age between my fingers. "It must be a descendant," I said.
"Do you know her?" She looked at me suspiciously.
I nodded. "I know someone who looks like her."
"As I said, so do I."
"That woman you saw in your dream. What was it about?"
"Dreams, hah. They're nightmares, of a cat-like beast that comes into my room at night and bites me on the chest. Then it turns into a female figure and disappears through the door without opening it. Weird, huh?"
"When did these nightmares start?"
"When that skinny blond bitch tried to suck the life out of me. But I still have the image of the dog biting her arm. Her look of pain makes me smile after the nightmare's gone." She stared back at the painting. "But the woman in the painting, and my dream, isn't the same one who tried to sucker me."
She continued to stare at it. "I think the ship in the background is the Mayfair. I remember the shape from school textbooks." She laughed. "Wouldn't it be funny if the pilgrims who were persecuted for their religious beliefs turned out to be vampires, and the New World was settled by them. Oh wait, what if they brought over the people to breed them and hunt them, like the New World was some big game park."
"Focus," I said.
"What number's on the card?"
"C."
"That's not a number," she said, as if no one else had noticed.
"Yeah."
"Maybe ... maybe it's like in a different dimension." Her voice suddenly pitched up in excitement. "You have to do something weird, or ritually, then the whole world twists sideways and suddenly up is down, numbers are letters, colors are sounds and--"
"I've found it."
"Oh." Her face fell.
I'd found several tall lockers labeled A to F. I tried the latch on C. It squeaked open and we both peered inside.
"So where's the rood?" Angelina said.
The locker was empty. The lock had been forced, the latch bent, and inside there was nothing but space that would disillusion any rampant optimist.
Angelina wiped her hand in the dust at the bottom of the locker. She examined the dust on her fingers, sniffing it and staring at it closely. She brushed it off her fingers and let it fall to the floor. It glowed. She sighed and slumped against the opposite wall.
"The rood's gone," she said. "That's a rood awakening."
"Are you taking this seriously?"
"You think this is the first time it's been stolen? It has a history of slipping through people's hands."
"How do you know so much? It seems like more than a hobby."
"I've got notes."
I gave her a look of few words.
"Okay, okay. I don't know if you know this, but I'm from a long line of vampire slayers. That's probably one of the reasons they want me dead."
"Probably?"
She glanced at me. "Okay, it's a pretty big one. My family's been doing this for centuries. At times we've been custodians of the rood. There used to be dozens of us, but now it's just me.
If I don't have children there'll be no more vampire slayers. But there's something they've forgotten. I'm the only one who knows how to use the rood."
"Really? You've used it?"
"Well ... I've read the notes."
"So you don't know how to use it."
"I know the theory. It's all in the wrist." She smiled at me. "Lots of things are."
I sighed. She was turning into a Mina.
I kicked the ground, muttering the words "vampire slayer" the same way someone might say "psychotic delusional." The rood was gone. Crazy-pants might not have been worried, but the way the staff had disappeared before we got there was ominous.
"How did they know?" I wondered aloud.
Somehow they must have worked out that Hugh had brought the rood to this pawnshop. I didn't like where this was heading. I'd only told one person about it, and that person gave me this address. Laura. Unless she told someone at work, there was no way anyone could have known so quickly. But she wouldn't have told anyone at the tank. Maybe someone overheard her, or was spying on her. The voice of the bear-man came back, ringing in my ears: Betrayer.
The pain speared into me, making my head spin. The weight of the world fell on me, and I sagged under the pressure.
27
"Where did you say you got the address from?" Angelina asked me.
"A friend."
"How sure are you that your friend's reliable? You know, not one of them." She was watching me carefully.
"Ninety-nine percent."
"So there's a one-percent chance your friend sold us out."
"No."
"There's a chance they could've found this place on their own. There's also a chance they didn't find it and it's in one of these other lockers. But I doubt it."
I couldn't wrap my head--or my heart--around the implication of Angelina's words; that Laura had betrayed me. I put the gas lantern down and opened the next locker. The lantern went out. We were in darkness.
"Why did you do that?" Angelina said.
"I didn't."
"I did."
"I wish you'd make up your mind."
"I didn't," I repeated.
I had the feeling I'd missed something. The dust and claustrophobia were beginning to sink their fearsome claws into my resolve. I felt someone breathing down my neck. I was shaking. I picked up the lantern and relit it. It was still full. I placed it back down. When I turned back to the locker it went out again.
"Stop doing that," I said.
"I didn't do anything."
I bent down. The lantern was gone. "Did you take the lantern?"
"Why would I do that?" She'd found a long, thin rod and was using it to prise open another locker.
The lantern appeared at the far end of the small room. Relit. On its own.
"What the ..." Angelina glanced at me, and turned and looked at the lantern.
We both walked to the far end of the room. As we approached the lantern, it went out again.
"How can that happen? Is there anything in your notes?" I said.
"Yes," she said sarcastically, "its energy mode's set to transport."
We searched the floor in the dark, but it had gone.
"For sure, this isn't exciting," I said.
"Before you said it was," she replied.
"That was you."
"I didn't say anything." She stepped in close to me. "Who did?"
Then the lantern reignited at the other end of the room, next to the lockers, the flames licking up slowly and menacingly, starting small then growing until the whole corner was bathed in the strange glow. Shadows flitted around the edges of the pool of light.
The lantern went out again and we were left blinking in the darkness. Then it exploded. Flames leaped up, engulfing the ancient wooden shelves, which cracked and burned with a vengeful intensity.
I'd never heard such language before. Angelina went through every blue word available to the local community and outreaching lands. We turned back to the exit, but found it blocked by the solid oak door. I banged my fists against it. There were scorch marks on it. There was no handle or lever of any kind. I knocked on the walls. They clanged.
We were in a metal box, underground. The place had become a furnace.
The flames leaped up the walls liked deranged goblins. Old parchment and wood, brittle beyond use, exploded. Smoke coiled around us as the heat built. Angelina grabbed my hand and squeezed tightly. She gasped and placed her hand over her mouth. I turned. In the smoke, floating eerily in the billowing clouds, were five points of light hanging in the air. We stood mesmerized by the sight.
Angelina stepped behind me and looked over my shoulder. "No. Not again," she whispered.
Another set of five white lights appeared beside the first. Out of the shadows stepped two skinny blond things, their heads bent forward and their burning red eyes staring up at us. Their hands were extended and their fingers glowed.
"This is not a good day," I said.
I reached back and grasped Angelina closely. I tried to back away, but there was no space left. The smoke was starting to thicken. I pointed to the shelves.
"Use your weapons," I said.
There was no response. I turned around; she was shaking with fear. Her memories had come back and paralyzed her. I shook her and shouted, and slowly her eyes drifted away from the skinny blond things to my face.
"Forget them," I shouted, "you're converted."
"Then why are they here?" she cried. "They won't stop until we're dead. And they don't die."
She wasn't any good to me like this. I slapped her across the face. That focused her. She kneed me weakly in the groin, which I wasn't expecting, but, given the circumstances, it was a worthwhile trade.
"You brought weapons," I managed. "Use them."
"Yes, I did, didn't I?"
Her face changed as the security of heavy firepower washed over her. She smiled with the conviction of a gambler who's discovered that the four aces up the sleeve are still there. She threw back her coat and snatched out her weapons. A determined spark flashed in her eyes. She unloaded several rounds into the advancing bodies. Smoke poured out of her guns as the spent rounds tumbled to the floor.
The figures stumbled backward under the onslaught. The bullets thudded into their bodies, ripping them apart. Their shapes deformed as pieces of them fell to the floor. But then the bullets ran out and they came stalking forward again.
"I should've brought the silver bullets." Angelina pulled the pistol from behind her back and emptied it.
I wasn't thinking straight. It would have been better if she'd fired at the damn door.
"It's not easy, but I'm enjoying it," she yelled.
She slipped the sword off her back and brought it down in one graceful swipe, but one skinny blond stepped aside, easily avoiding the blade. Angelina swung again, and again the creature dodged easily.
Smoke had filled the small room, and we were both coughing.
The first skinny blond reached toward me. My feet slid backward and I struggled to gain traction. She closed the distance and her fingertips touched my chest ... and she exploded into a howling ball of rage and pain. She retreated, clutching her hand and hissing like a demented cat. Her face twisted with pain and anger, taking on the qualities of a hideous beast.
I felt my chest. Under the shirt fabric, I made out the round shape of the rood shield. I approached her, and she backed away, stepping into flames that licked up around her. I could barely see her through the smoke. My head spun and my vision blurred. Holding my shirt up over my mouth failed to keep the debilitating fumes out of my lungs. I took a last deep breath and charged at her.
I felt fingers burning into me, pulling the life from my body. I pulled her close so she couldn't escape. The pain burned through me. I slashed at her with the blade, opening up a large wound in her stomach. I grabbed her around the neck, pulled her close, and rammed the rood shield into the wound. She staggered back.
Angelina's earlier words cam
e to me: They won't stop until we're dead.
"Today," I croaked, "you're dead."
The explosion filled the small room.
I tucked in under Angelina's wilting body and hitched her arm over my shoulder. She was barely conscious, fighting for breath. Flames roared toward us, and the heat seared into my bones. As the pressure built, the door buckled and a moment later blew free. The shockwave lifted us up and blew us through the open doorway onto the steps. We began to tumble down toward the flames.
I rolled up onto my feet, grabbed Angelina and threw her over my shoulder. I raced up the steps. I charged at the front door and leaped through the glass. We landed heavily on the sidewalk as the shop exploded over us. Glass rained down around us, followed by smoking and smoldering pieces of wood, and scraps of paper that fluttered down like bloated fireflies.
The glass cascaded off me as I moved. I rolled over and checked Angelina's pulse. It was there. Faint but regular. I shook her gently, and the glass fell from her. Her eyes opened slowly, then widened as she recognized me, well enough, apparently, for her to slap me.
"What was that for?"
"You lost the rood shield," she shouted.
I held up the small piece of wood. Smokey blood dripped from it, but it was still in one piece. "It's tougher than you and me." I gave her a smile.
She slapped me again. I put it down to habit. Then she gave me a passionate kiss. I reminded myself that she was on loan from crazy school. But you can always check the books back into the crazy-school library later. Just as I was enjoying it she gave me another slap. Crazy school.
"You're a tough man, Mr. Avram." She lay back and stared up at the sky. "Thank you for saving me."
I thought there might be another kiss in it, but she appeared to have progressed beyond that level of physical appreciation.
"The rood is gone," she said. "Those ... things are out during the day and attacking us, even though neither one of us is a female virgin. Something bad is coming. We should get out of here. Go to a church or something and hide."
