Best New Vampire Tales: Vol 1 Part 21

"A little research. Hired a private investigator."

Rogan stepped away from the man. "Okay, pal, maybe it's time we parted company."

"Please, just let me speak," the man said, and Rogan had the feeling there was something sane and honest in his eyes. He was a crackpot, sure, but he didn't seem dangerous. And there was a certain amus.e.m.e.nt factor to the whole bit. "All right, but it's only because I've always liked horror fiction," he said. "Make it fast, and when you're done, I'm leaving."

"I saw you at your real estate office several months ago, and recognized your capability immediately," the man said without prelude, his one visible eye gleaming in the dim light. "You have the most powerful aura I've ever seen in any Sabbatarian-even more than any other red-haired Sabbatarian."

"Sabbatarian?" Rogan echoed, self-consciously running his hand through his red hair. "Isn't that a Jew who celebrates the Sabbath on Sat.u.r.day? Or anyone who believes in strict observance of the Sabbath?"

"It came to mean that over time. But more specifically, a Sabbatarian is one who is born on Sat.u.r.day."

"I don't understand."

"The ancient Macedonians knew that Sabbatarians are blessed with an innate protection from vampires. But it's better than that. Sabbatarians have a power that works against vampires. Vampires attempting to mesmerize a Sabbatarian are likely to find it won't work, or the vampires end up mesmerized. A red-haired Sabbatarian, on the other hand, is a far more powerful variety."

"This is silly," Rogan said, suddenly keenly aware of a bat fluttering down to a nearby streetlight to nab a flying insect.

"Not at all. I'm a Sabbatarian, and my power has been instrumental in combating them."

"Then why do you need me?"

"As I said, I'm getting old. But you aren't just any Sabbatarian. Far more important events in your life have transpired on Sat.u.r.days than normal people. And those events only escalate a Sabbatarian's power. For instance, you were baptized on a Sat.u.r.day."

"So are a lot of people," Rogan said.

"Think back on the major events of you life, Rogan. Sat.u.r.day is a nexus point for you. You were married on a Sat.u.r.day. You graduated both high school and college on Sat.u.r.days."

"I do most things I enjoy on Sat.u.r.day, because it's the weekend," Rogan said. "There's nothing amazing about it. h.e.l.l, I think I lost my virginity on a Sat.u.r.day."

"I can only confirm what I've researched; you alone can recall the others. But your aura radiates with all the power and color of a Sabbatarian the likes of which n.o.body has ever seen."

"Right," Rogan said with a smile. "I think our time is up. I'll be on my way." He sidestepped the old man and strode down the street amidst the growing wind and darkening skies.

"I need your strength, Mr. Mallory," the man called after him. "He's far too powerful for me."

Rogan waved after him and kept on going.

The man hollered, "I'll be dead soon, but he'll still be here. He'll rebuild the vampire presence on this world. You may be the only one who can stop it."

He kept walking, trying to ignore the crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Truly, this had been a strange day.

And, come to think of it, it was Sat.u.r.day.

Delia was quiet when he returned. He could tell she was mad at him. He tried making small talk but she just ate quietly. He knew the routine, knew the script. He finally sighed and set down his fork. "What's wrong, dear?"

The ensuing discussion where she kept telling him nothing was wrong and he kept demanding to know lasted several minutes. Finally, she gave in and said, "I just thought that, for a change, you'd stay home on a Sat.u.r.day and we'd spend the day together."

"I had some research to do," he said. "This legal tangle with the Crenshaws' building permit is really mucking things up. We'll spend tomorrow together, hon."

"You work Monday through Friday, twelve hours a day or more," she said dully, as if she were protesting but not really caring. "I'd think you'd give me Sat.u.r.day."

"I'm sorry," he said, and he really meant it. "But being the designated broker is what gives us this nice house and the food we're eating."

She sighed and nodded. "I know. But it's always about you working. It's never about us being together."

"I'm trying."

"I know." Abruptly, she smiled broadly, all perfect white teeth his job had also paid for. "Hey, my sister called this afternoon. We're going out to the mall in about a half hour."

He looked at her in surprise. "You complain about me never spending time with you, and then you run off with her to go shopping?"

"I didn't know when you'd be home. They're having a mallwalk sale. Everyone's having big discounts and they're keeping the mall open until midnight. It's not like Sarah and I do this often."

She was still backing out of the driveway in the BMW when the phone rang. He was only mildly surprised to hear the old man on the other end.

"I a.s.sume we can talk a bit more," the man said.

"No, we cannot," Rogan said.

"You're making this hard on both of us," he said. "I need you, and I'm not going to leave you alone until you listen. And it doesn't matter if you go to the police, or get a protection order, or hire security guards. This is more important than any of that."

"Mister, put yourself in my position. You approach me on the street, say you're a vampire hunter, and tell me how some random occurrence of Sat.u.r.day in my life qualifies me to whip Dracula's a.s.s. How would you react?"

"Probably the same, which is why I'm so understanding."

There was still a level of amus.e.m.e.nt to the whole thing, but he didn't need the guy calling his house when Delia was home. "What do I have to do to make you go away?"

"Just believe what I told you."

"That's not likely."

"I figured as much. That's why I saved such proof for you. I have one I captured-here, at my house. It's a young one, not very powerful. I could almost have wrestled it down. Now I promise you, if you just come here and have a look, and don't believe me, you'll never hear from me again."

He almost took the motorcycle for a change, but he was nervous enough to prefer four wheels. He took the Mercedes to the remote address, which was outside of town, with no houses for a mile either way, surrounded by wide-open fields. Rogan pulled his Mercedes up next to the two vehicles in the driveway-an old van and a big Chrysler New Yorker. He sat, staring at the well-lit front porch.

He couldn't believe he was doing this. The guy could likely have a wooden stake ready to drive through Rogan's own heart, for all he knew. Yet somehow he got out of the car and headed up the walkway.

The house was a veritable anti-vampire fortress. Strings of garlic decorated the eaves under the roof, surrounded the windows inside and out, and encircled the door. Holy symbols from dozens of religions were displayed on the house, on posts around it, and designed into the brickwork of the walkway. Stranger still, he realized the gla.s.s in all the windows was one-way: reflecting mirrors, essentially. As he stood at the bottom of the stairs to the front door, he realized the wooden posts that lined the walkway, on which various symbols were displayed, could easily be yanked up from the gra.s.s and used as stakes. Rogan wondered if the flat, open fields that surrounded the property were devoid of trees for a reason. Maybe it was to keep the sun shining on the house as long as possible during the day. Was this guy that entrenched in his beliefs?

The door suddenly flew open, and the eyepatched old man regarded him with a smile. "Welcome, Mr. Mallory. Do come in."

"Are you inviting me in?" Rogan asked. "If I'm actually a vampire, that could be disastrous for you."

The old man laughed loudly. "Stoker and Hollywood, Rogan. Absolutely untrue. Besides, I can spot a vampire a mile away, and you're not it. I read auras, like I told you. Now, won't you come in?"

"I'd guess I'd like to at least know your name first."

The old man looked bemused. "And knowing my name will relieve the danger you believe is here?"

"No. But I'll feel better."

"Okay. It's Jonah William Byrne. Now, please ... come in."

"I'm regretting this already," Rogan said, but he mounted the stairs and entered the house.

The interior was more or less like the exterior: holy symbols everywhere. Real mirrors abounded-literally, every wall had multiple mirrors. There was no lack of garlic, either, and the whole place smelled of it.

"He's in the bas.e.m.e.nt," Jonah said, opening a door. Steps led down and out of sight. Rogan regarded them, and Jonah, uneasily.

"Either way, the answer is in that bas.e.m.e.nt," Jonah said. "If I'm crazy, you'll know soon enough."

They descended into a full concrete bas.e.m.e.nt, dimly lit by low-wattage bulbs. An oil tank, a water heater, a furnace, and a washer and dryer were all here.

"He's this way," Jonah said, heading toward the darker end of the cellar. It wasn't until they were melting into the darkness that Rogan saw the large walk-in cooler. It was closed, its stainless steel door gleaming in the dim light, a m.u.f.fled humming playing out a steady mechanical tune.

"You refrigerated him?" Rogan said.

"They don't like cold much, and the walk-in's soundproof," Jonah said. "Now, it's bound pretty d.a.m.n tight, but it'll probably make a whole load of noise and thrash around. Don't let it scare you. Like I said, it's young and not too tough."

A thought suddenly occurred to him. Rogan had been a.s.suming Jonah was a nut case with a vivid imagination, but suddenly he wondered if Jonah were a homicidal nut case with an actual person in there. Worse, maybe Rogan would become that innocent person.

Jonah snapped the handle down and pulled the door open. Within, all was dark. "Here's your proof," he said, and flipped the light switch.

Rogan blinked and recoiled in shock. There was a naked man spread-eagle on the floor, thin limbs extended in four directions, pulled taut with heavy chains. The chains were wrapped around his wrists and ankles many times, and secured to big hooks in the corners of the otherwise empty walk-in. A thin covering of ghostly white skin was stretched over his ribs and bones like a sheet of latex rubber over a birdcage. He regarded them all with sunken, dark eyes set in a gaunt face framed by stringy, black hair.

Rogan was frozen, looking at the man in horror. Jonah Byrne had evidently kept his prisoner tied up down here, without food, for some time. "How ... how long have you ... had him here?" he stammered.

Jonah waved him off, unconcerned. "Oh, don't let his appearance fool you. He's in better shape than he looks."

"How long?" Rogan said, hearing his own voice quavering.

"About a month. I've been saving him for you."

Rogan backed up quickly, b.u.mped into Jonah, and spun about. He intended to make a run for it. He was sure he could outrun the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d, make it to his car, and hoof it out of there-but there was Jonah, backing away from him, gun in his hand. Rogan wasn't a gun expert, but he sure as h.e.l.l knew how to cla.s.sify the cannon Jonah had pointed at him. It was a big f.u.c.king gun.

"Please don't," Rogan begged. "I've got a wife at home ... please ... "

"I expected more of you than whimpering and pleading for your life," Jonah said, "but it doesn't matter. You're not leaving here until you understand. Now pick up the three-pound sledge and drive that wooden stake through its heart."

The sledgehammer and stake were leaning against the inside wall, and now Rogan's brain was on the spin cycle. "I ... I can't do that."

"You're not getting it, kid," Jonah said. "It's not human. It's a creature. A monster. A G.o.dd.a.m.n demon from h.e.l.l, I tell you!" He was yelling now, and his voice got louder, and he waved the gun as he hollered. "Now you grab that stake, pick up that sledge, and drive it through his cold black f.u.c.king heart!"

The gun was certainly big. Rogan backed into the walk-in and numbly picked up the items. Behind him, he heard the captive growling. He turned to see the naked guy struggling vainly against his steel bonds, snarling and hissing at him, eyes wild. A man, yes, but after a month like this, it had truly become a creature.

Then it opened its mouth and bared its teeth and Rogan's jaw dropped.

It had huge fangs, almost like a saber-toothed human.

That kind of alteration is popular these days, he told himself.

"He's scared now," Jonah said gleefully. "He knows the Big Stake is here. And he can see your aura. He knows what you are."

Rogan looked at the creature's face, and their eyes met. The creature ceased its growling and hissing almost immediately and, like a docile puppy, relaxed and went completely blank.

Briefly, Rogan's mind filled with a flurry of disjointed images-people he didn't know, places he'd never been, sounds he'd never heard. It was like a confusing dream replayed at high speed. He shook his head to clear it, but never looked away from the thing's eyes.

"What's wrong with him?" Rogan whispered.

"You're what's wrong with him!" Jonah let out a rollicking laugh. "You're a Sabbatarian of the highest order. He's fallen to you. All you have left is to stake him. It's like pounding a nail; you just line it up and hit it on the head. I'd do it for you, but I don't think you quite believe any of this yet. So I have to keep this gun pointed at your head until you do it. Once you do, you'll see."

The phantasmagoria of images kept flying through his mind. Faces, voices, and smells; things, ideas, and feelings. They weren't his. They made no sense. Rogan shook his head. "I can't do it. You're going to have to kill me."

Behind him, Jonah sighed. "Are you really going to make me threaten you with Delia? Are you really going to make me blow a hole through her belly? I'll do it, Rogan. So save your own a.s.s, save your wife's, and save your unborn child's."

"My unborn child?" Rogan echoed.

"I hired the best private detective. She found out Thursday at Dr. Weatherbee's. I guess you didn't know."

"I didn't," Rogan said. Why hadn't she told him? Why would she have kept it from him? How could she have considered keeping it from him?

"So stake him now, or I'll f.u.c.king kill them both," Jonah snarled, and Rogan heard the hammer c.o.c.k back on the weapon.

He hadn't separated his eyes from those of the entranced captive. Slowly, he moved forward, on legs of rubbery iron, as if guided by some part of his being not under his conscious control. He dropped to his knees beside the chained man and positioned the stake. All the while, the man watched him.

When Rogan raised he sledgehammer high, the prisoner seemed to break out of his reverie: a light humming sound, less than a growl but more than a whimper, floated up. Rogan wavered, even as the strange, alien pictures in his mind seemed to spiral around crazily.

"Don't let him get to you," Jonah said. "You just imagine Delia with her womb ripped open and your baby without its head, and the rest will be easy."

And it was. Rogan brought the sledge down with a strangely alien might, and in that one strike the stake plunged straight through the man's chest and clear to the concrete beneath. The man let out a gut-twisting howl of pain and tightened against its bonds, arching its back. Rogan leaped up and back, crashing into the wall. At the door to the walk-in, Jonah whooped in celebration.

The man still howled in agony, and as Rogan watched, transfixed like a deer in the headlights, its white skin rapidly darkened, blackening like a pig cooking on a spit. Then, just as suddenly, his body collapsed in on itself. Rogan watched in utter horror, even as the last echo of the creature's howling died off, as the remains crumbled up and turned to gray dust.

"Congratulations, Mr. Mallory," Jonah said, lowering the gun and tucking it in his belt. "Your first vampire kill."

Rogan sat, mystified, on the L-shaped sectional sofa in Jonah's s.p.a.cious living room. "You were telling the truth," he said.

At the adjoining kitchen counter, Jonah was pouring coffee. "I'm not as crazy as I look, you know. For the record, the gun isn't loaded. Regular bullets don't do much against these types, so I have little use for it. And I wouldn't have hurt you or Delia. I just had to make you understand."

"How many vampires are there?" Rogan asked.