The Book of Death (21 page)

Jessica looked surprised. ‘Wow,
I had no idea you had such big plans. I’m mildly impressed.’

‘As you should be. Right now
though, there’s no sign of the book, or Ulrika Price. Which reminds me, I’m
going to have to make a stop by the library to kill her at some point.’

Jessica shook her head. ‘See,
there you go getting all personal and vengeful again.’

‘Oh, shut up about that. You
don’t like Ulrika Price anyway. I thought you’d be glad to see the back of her.’

‘For all we know that bitch
might have gotten big ideas and decided to write our names in the book. I’m
amazed you trusted her with it, what with you being all paranoid and
stuff.
 
Or maybe she sold it and
skipped town.’

Gaius could feel himself grinding
his teeth in frustration. ‘As I keep saying, it’s imperative that we get The
Book of Death back. These are testing times. With all the murders that have
just occurred in this city it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the
world discovers that Santa Mondega is rife with the undead. The minute the word
gets out about us, the governments of the world will start sending armies here.
We’ll be blown to bits before we’ve even gotten going. So, yes, great though it
is that you’ve kidnapped this woman, it’s nowhere near as important as finding
The Book of Death before word gets out about what we’re up to here.’

‘Oh dear,’ Jessica had a
troubled look on her face. ‘In that case you’re not going to like this.’

‘Like what?’

‘We’re kind of all over the news
already.’

Gaius could feel himself
becoming extremely agitated. He ran his right hand back and forth over his
smooth bald head. If he’d had any hair he would have been pulling it out about
now. ‘What do you mean?’ he snarled.

‘There’s been a piece running on
the local news channel for the last hour. It’s picking up steam and causing a
fair amount of public outrage.’

Gaius took a deep breath through
his mouth and exhaled slowly through his nostrils. ‘What is it? Go on tell me!’

‘There’s a child killer on the loose.’

‘Why should I care about that?’

‘Because it says that the
victims were all poisoned and have bites on their necks. There are mutterings
that it’s the work of vampires. We haven’t exactly been discreet in recent
times, but now that someone’s killing kids, it’s becoming very high profile.’

Gaius slammed his fist down on
the desk. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ he yelled. ‘This will fuck up everything. If that
story goes national, we’ll have armies from every fucking nation in the world
sending troops down here! Who the fuck is doing it?’

‘Well, that’s the other thing,
the news flash says that some of the kids who were killed had goat’s hair under
their fingernails.’

‘Goat’s hair?’

‘Yeah.’

Gaius sighed. ‘I should have
fucking known.’

Jessica reached a hand into her
cleavage and pulled out a cell phone that had been concealed within it. She
pressed a few buttons, then approached her father’s desk and handed it to him.
‘Just press dial,’ she said.

Gaius snatched the phone from
her hand and pressed the dial button. The phone rang twice before it was
answered.

‘Hello,’ said a voice on the
other end of the line.

‘Well, hello there. This is
Rameses Gaius. Is there something you want to tell me?’

There was an uneasy silence on
the other end of the phone for a few seconds. Eventually the other person
answered. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

Gaius couldn’t contain his rage
any longer. ‘YOU’RE ALL OVER THE FUCKING NEWS, YOU IDIOT!’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes,
oh
. You promised me
no more kids. Not while I’m planning world domination. You’ve disobeyed me for
the last time!’

‘I’m sorry. I thought I was
being discreet.’

‘You’re about as discreet as a
fart in a library.’

‘Huh?’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Gaius,
exasperation evident in his voice. ‘I’m having the day from hell already. The
Book of Death has gone missing, the Bourbon Kid is on the loose somewhere, and
then on top of that, you’re all over the news for killing kids!’

‘The Book of Death has gone
missing?’

‘Yes. Not that it’s really any
of your concern.’

The voice on the other end of
the line took on a less apologetic tone. ‘I know who has The Book of Death,’ it
said. ‘I can get it back for you.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. But if I get it for you,
can I carry on killing kids?’

‘Sure. Who has the book?’

‘Just a local idiot. He’s only a
stone’s throw away from me at this very moment. Getting it back will be a piece
of cake.’

Twenty-Five

Rick’s day had been a tiring
one. With Flake signing up to join the police force, he’d had to close the Ole
Au Lait for most of the day, and in trying to find a replacement for her he’d
barely had five minutes to himself. According to some stupid local bylaw there
was nothing he could do about Flake joining the police force in an emergency
either.

When he’d finished all of his extra
chores, he locked the front door of the Ole Au Lait behind him and stepped out
into the snowy streets once more.

The dark clouds that had been
looming over the city for the last twenty-four hours showed no signs of
clearing. He hadn’t minded the heavy rain and occasional thunder from the night
before. But the non-stop downfall of snow over the course of the day was a real
pain in the ass. There sure was some strange shit going on in town. Lots of
kids were complaining about a hit and run driver mowing down the snowmen they
had built around the streets. There had also been numerous elderly people taken
to hospital after slipping and falling over on the icy sidewalks.

As night fell the streets were
deserted, which was hardly surprising. It was late, it was dark and above all
it was fucking dangerous to be out. In spite of the rumour that a shitload of
vampires had been slaughtered on Halloween, Rick still worried that there might
be a few lurking around. Thinking about it made him pull the collar on his raincoat
up to cover his neck.

His apartment was only a block
away from the Ole au Lait, and normally he wouldn’t fear a vampire attack. Any
of his customers leaving late in the evening could well expect to become food
for the immortals, but being the café’s owner, Rick was generally left alone.
If any vampire killed him then his café would close down. In the same way that
none of the undead ever touched Sanchez, Rick knew he was safe because they
needed the blood of his customers. No Ole Au Lait, no late night coffee
drinkers. No Tapioca, slightly less drunken assholes.

As he turned the corner at the
end of the block he almost slipped on a manhole cover that was hidden beneath
some black ice. Fortunately no one was around to see him stumble slightly
except the drunken tramp dressed as Santa Claus who was lying in a shop doorway
on the other side of the road. The tramp looked fast asleep. His white beard
had turned a horrible grey colour and the front of his red outfit was stained
with rainfall, sleet, specks of snow and no doubt some booze that he would have
spilled from a bottle he had resting on his lap in a brown paper bag.

‘Poor old bastard,’ Rick
muttered to himself. It had to be desperate times indeed for that particular
tramp. It was only November, so the guy had another month to wait before people
started to take pity on him and throw some cash his way in the build up to
Christmas.

By the time Rick reached his
house he was soaked through from the steadily falling snow and chilled to the
bone thanks to the icy winds. He hurried down the five concrete steps that led
down to his front door below the sidewalk and pulled a set of keys from his
pocket. He fumbled for the correct one, his frozen fingers struggling to get a
suitable grip on the key he required. When he eventually settled on the right
one, he slipped it into the door’s lock and turned it. The door clicked and he
pushed it open. The hallway inside looked warm. He stepped inside and onto the
brown welcome doormat. The house was much warmer than outside and he placed his
hand down onto the radiator on the wall. It was suitably warm, but would no
doubt need turning up before the night was through. His shoes were soaked and
carrying all kinds of debris on the soles. He rubbed them on the mat and turned
to push the door closed behind him. That was when Rick realised he had a
visitor. And not a pleasant looking one. He was greeted by the sight of a giant
man in red lunging through his front door, his mouth wide open revealing an
enormous set of vampire fangs.

‘Shiiiiiiiiiiiit!’

A huge dark dirty hand slammed
over Rick’s mouth, silencing any attempt at a cry for help. Rick was now
staring right into the crazy black eyes of a vampire dressed as Santa Claus.
What had looked like a perfectly helpless drunken tramp only a minute earlier
when slumped in a doorway down the road, was now a full blown, bloodsucking
maniac. And this motherfucker looked thirsty. The Santa was strong and pushed
Rick back into his hallway, keeping its hand pinned over his mouth. Rick’s eyes
opened wide as he got a close up look at some thick streaks of blood in his
intruder’s bushy grey beard.

The Santa pulled him in close
and then hooked a leg around the back of Rick’s knees and pushed him again
causing him to fall back on to the hardwood floor. Rick heard the front door
slam shut as the Santa kicked it back with one of his heavy black boots.

‘I own the Ole Au Lait,’ Rick
spluttered, hoping it would buy him a reprieve.

‘I know you do,’ growled the
Santa. ‘That ain’t what’s gonna save you.’

Rick looked up at his tormentor,
finally getting a really good look. The Santa was a fearsome looking guy
indeed. Behind his dirty grey beard was a blotchy red and purple face. And
unless he was wearing fake padding, he was decidedly overweight too. But he had
big arms and a head the size of a pumpkin. His red Santa hat was definitely an
extra large and the top part of it hung down next to the side of his face.

‘Please,’ said Rick in his most
pleading and desperate voice. ‘I’m a good guy, I swear.’

Santa leaned over him. ‘I’ve met
lots of children lately who’ve been good all year,’ he said. ‘It didn’t save
them and it won’t save you.’

Rick grabbed at the Santa’s
beard. This was no way to hurt him though. As he pulled at it, it came away
from his attacker’s face. The beard was a fake, made from animal hair and held
on by an elastic band wrapped around his ears. It smelled unpleasantly of goat.

‘Please,’ Rick begged in
desperation. ‘I’ll give you anything. Just let me go.’

‘You can start by telling me where
The Book of Death is.’

‘The Book of Death?’

‘That’s right. You had it this
morning. I saw you with it in the Ole Au Lait. Where is it now?’

Rick swallowed hard. ‘I took it
back to the library,’ he spluttered as the grey beard brushed against his face.

The Santa leaned down even
further, getting his face in close to take a good look at Rick to see if he was
telling the truth. The smell of stale booze was overwhelming as the monster
breathed over him before finally responding. ‘I went to the library already.
They said it was missing.’

‘I didn’t check it in with the
librarian. I just stuck it on the shelf in the Reference section.’

‘Why? Why not hand it in to the
librarian?’

‘I was returning it for my
friend Sanchez. He said he’d borrowed it without permission so I had to stick
it back on the shelf myself.’

The Santa slapped Rick around
the face. ‘I don’t believe you!’ he snarled.

‘I can take you back there in
the morning and show you where I put it.’

The Santa sat down on Rick’s chest,
pinning him to the floor. ‘You just said it was in the Reference section. I can
find it myself.’

‘Okay, fine. We’re good then,
right? You can leave me alone now?’ said Rick, hoping that the situation was
resolved.

The Santa reached inside his red
jacket and pulled out a brown paper bag. From within it he pulled out a small
silver hip flask. He reached down with his spare hand and grabbed Rick’s nose,
pinning his nostrils shut and pushing his head down onto the floor. He put the
bottle to Rick’s lips. ‘Open wide,’ he said. ‘You’ll like this!’

Rick could feel his lungs
gasping for oxygen. Having his nostrils held shut brought on a feeling of
helplessness and panic. All he could do was open his mouth and hope to suck in
some air. Instead, as he opened his mouth he watched on in terror as the heavy
set vampire in the Santa outfit held the bottle over his mouth and poured a
small amount of a warm green liquid down his throat. The liquid had a lemony
taste to it, not totally unpleasant. Certainly better than some of the piss
Rick had been served by Sanchez over the years.

The Santa eventually stopped
pouring the green liquid into his mouth and eased his grip on his nose,
allowing him to suck in some air. It caused him to cough and choke a little and
he felt the taste of the liquid in his throat and nostrils.