Hunter of the Dead (17 page)

There was a sickening crunch as part of Topan’s skull disintegrated under Father Otto’s gauntlet.

“That would be a violation of the code,” Topan managed to huskily spit out.

“You’re right! It would be! So would killing another immortal without cause.” Father Otto snapped the fingers of his free hand. “Oh, but now that I think about, our Houses are at war. You’re a perfectly legitimate Signari target. And did I mention that I really, really never got over Katarina’s loss?”

“Go ahead, then,” Topan growled, folding his arms defiantly, “Pop my head off. See what it benefits you.”

“That’s just it. Cicatrice doesn’t give a shit about you. Killing you in exchange for my Katarina? It’d be like trading a hunting dog for a gnat. A wife for a dung beetle.”

Father Otto relinquished his grip on Topan’s head.

“You’re useful to me, Topan. That’s why I give you a lot of leeway.” Father Otto held up his hands as though he were weighing two pieces of fruit. “Be cautious, though. Sometimes our leeway can outpace your usefulness. Damiana, if any of those fixers actually attempt to claim their prize…well, I’ll just leave it to your ample devices to settle accounts with them, sound fair?”

“Most fair, Father Otto.”

“Thank you. I’ll be retiring to my chambers. Good evening, all.”

A muted chorus of “good evenings” followed Father Otto out the door.

Two

Nico yawned. Having worked second shift so long, he was having trouble getting used to Price’s odd hours. They were walking down the hallways of one of the buildings of the University of Nevada. They’d gotten turned around on campus more than once already. It was hard to navigate in the burgeoning darkness.

“Doesn’t it make more sense to go vampire hunting during the day?”

Price shook his head.

“You’d think so but not really. They get entrenched in a city like this and they burrow down and down like a tick you can never dislodge.”

“But they’ve got to be vulnerable. They’re just sitting in a coffin, right?”

“Sure, if you could get to the coffin it’d be great. But nightcrawlers always surround themselves with renfields. Cultists. People who guard their coffins and make useful bloodbags. Sometimes they manage the vampire’s wealth and business. It’s disgusting.”

“So they hypnotize these people?”

Price shook his head.

“No, that’s a myth. Nightcrawlers run their circles – that’s what they call it, a ‘circle’ – like a cult. Some of the renfields are deceived, some are bribed, some even know what’s really going on and they do it for the promise of eternal life. A promise that just never seems to come true.”

“So anyone I meet could be a slave to a vampire?”

“A lot of people are. It’s pretty scary because the only advantage we’ve got on them is numbers. But as more and more people serve them…well, I guess it’s just a matter of time before we’re the ones who are outnumbered. Ah! Here we go.”

Price stopped at the entrance to the professor’s office. An embossed fake gold plate on the door read HOLLY ANN KASPRZAK, P.HD.

“So who is this lady again?”

Price took a swig from his flask.

“She’s a professor.”

“No shit. Teaching what? Vampire Studies?”

“History, I think. Something obscure. She’s got tenure so it doesn’t really matter.”

“And she’s really an Inquisitor?”

Price wiggled his hand in the air, a bit unsure.

“Eh.”

“Eh? What does that mean?”

“She’s not an Inquisitor exactly. But she’s knowledgeable. I think she’d probably consider herself a neutral party in an age-old conflict. Like a reporter or…Switzerland.”

“How do we know we can trust her, then?”

“Shut up, kid.”

Price knocked on the door. He stared down the barrel of his flask.

“Empty,” he muttered.

Silence reigned.

“You know, it’s late. She’s probably at home with her family.”

Price shook his head.

“No family. She’s here.”

He pounded on the door again with the flat part of the bottom of his hand.

“Holly Ann! Are you in there? It’s Carter Price!”

The door opened inward slightly.

“Uh…” Nico said, “Does that mean come in?”

“Grab him!” a voice called out from inside the office, “Gently, please!”

With a speed that betrayed its length, a thick brown snake shot out between the crack, tongue flicking in and out of its mouth. Brown with black and yellow spots, it slipped right between Price’s legs. Price jumped out of the way.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Grab him, Carter!”

“You grab him!”

Shaking his head, Nico quickened his pace to a speedwalk to keep up with the snake and reached down to grab it. Holding it by both hands around the neck (torso?) he looked into the thing’s dead, reptilian eyes and its tongue flicked out and tickled his nose. He nearly dropped it but held fast.

“You’re strangling him!” Price said, approaching.

“No, I’m not, I’m…oh shit.”

The snake was wrapping itself around his hips.

“Oh, nevermind. I guess he’s strangling you instead.”

A bespectacled woman with long, curly brown hair emerged from the office. She was wearing a pullover with the collar zipped up Mandarin-style.

“Carter Price, you old devil!”

She walked up to Price and embraced him in a big hug.

“Hey, there, Holly Ann. Who’s your new boy toy?”

“Him?” she said, walking up and stroking the snake under its chin. “This is Brutus. He’s a Sumatran blood python.”

“Blood?” Nico squeaked, as Brutus’s tail made its way around Nico’s neck.

Professor Kasprzak reached out and gently encouraged Brutus to entwine himself around her shoulders instead.

“So-called because of their red colorings when they’re full-grown. Of course, Brutus here is just a baby, aren’t you, sweetheart? Which is why you like to run away. But you mustn’t run away.” Kasprzak nuzzled at her pet. “Who are you?”

“Nico Salazar, ma’am.”

“Ah, yes. The famous shift manager.”

Nico was taken aback.

“You’ve heard of me?”

“No,” she said, tapping at his nameplate, “It’s on your nametag. How green is your new apprentice, Carter?”

“Apprentice, I dunno…”

“That green, huh? Haven’t even changed out of your work clothes yet, eh? Well, come on in, boys. As much fun as chasing down a naughty snake is, something tells me you’re here for a different reason.”

As a triptych, they entered Kasprzak’s office. It was a lavish and richly decorated affair. There were terrariums with turtles, lizards, and snakes lined up along one wall, bird cages in each corner, and cages full of mice, rats, guinea pigs, and hamsters. She gently let Brutus out into a nicely-appointed terrarium which had been decorated with rocks and small plants.

The office was hot from all the heat lamps and little warm-blooded creatures. And it smelled halfway like a zoo. Nevertheless, mittens, scarves, knitted caps, and even full sweaters hung over every inch of furniture. Kasprzak dropped down into the chair behind her desk, which whirled her halfway around before she pushed herself back to face the two men. Grabbing a ball of yarn and a hook she resumed crocheting a winter sock.

She gestured for them to take seats in two plush chairs opposite her. Nico picked up a folded tablecloth from his seat, sat down, and set the tablecloth on his lap. Price just knocked a stack of doilies off his chair onto the floor.

“Do you teach biology?” Nico asked.

She chuckled.

“Nope. Information technology.”

Nico glanced around but couldn’t even spot a computer.

“Your office doesn’t look like…”

“I’ll bet when you get home at night you don’t want to see another cup of coffee or newspaper.”

“Or sandwich,” Price muttered.

“That’s true,” Nico agreed.

“Anyhoo, what can I do you for?”

Price reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He handed it over to Kasprzak. She adjusted her glasses, looked at it, adjusted her glasses again, took her glasses off, cleaned them, then adjusted them again.

“Real?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Where is it?”

“Bonaparte has it.”

“Will she let me take a look?”

Price shrugged. Kasprzak clucked her tongue and shook her head from side to side.

“When will you two just kiss and make up already?”

“When she admits she’s wrong about everything and disbands her group.”

“I suspect she’d say much the same about you. Nico, is it?”

“Yes, professor.”

Kasprzak wore a delighted face and smiled at Price.

“Oh, he’s very polite. You picked a good one, Carter.”

“I didn’t…nevermind.”

“Nico, darling, will you grab that afghan?”

Nico rose and walked over to the wall Kasprzak was pointing at. The colorful result of some long crocheting labor of hers hung over what could have been more aquariums or terrariums or God only knew what all else. He grabbed the blanket.

“Yes, go ahead. Pull it down.”

He yanked and stepped back, worried that he would open up a flow of junk that wouldn’t stop. But behind the afghan was simply a bookshelf. He scanned the titles. Quite a few were utterly inscrutable to him, not even in the Latin alphabet. Amongst the ones he could read were
The Pnakotic Maunscripts
,
The Tome of Eternal Darkness
,
Unausprechlichen Kulten
,
The Malleus Maleficarium
,
De Vermis Mysteriis
,
The Book of Eibon
,
Cultes des Goules
,
Vlarney the Vampyr
, the collected works of Poe, Lovecraft, and Machen, and the
Naturom Demento
. Nico ran his fingers across the incredible collection.

“Not exactly
A++ for Beginners
.”

Kasprzak shook her head. Then she tapped her temple with her index finger.

“Nah. All that stuff’s up here anyway. Is there one called…something…wormy wormy germy. Shit. I can’t remember.”

“Uh…
De Vermis Mysteriis
?”

Kasprzak snapped her fingers.

“That’s the one.”

Nico reached up to grab the correct tome and started to pull it out.

“Jesus, be careful, kid!” Price said, “That thing’s eight hundred years old.”

Nico whirled around, the book in his hand, and held it up. It had a glossy new cover and the pages were still white.

“No it’s not. It says copyright 1998.”

“Reprint, I’m afraid,” Kasprzak said, “Still, pretty tough to find. A lot of private copies have gone mysteriously missing.”

“Mysteriously missing in the sense that…” Nico prodded.

“In the sense that if the nightcrawlers get wind you have one, they’ll take it. And probably kill you,” Price growled.

“And they bought all the copies on eBay. Selfish pricks.”

Nico put the book down on Kasprzak’s desk. He and Price scooted their chairs forward to get a better look as she flicked through it.

“Too bad there’s no index,” she muttered, “Medieval monks weren’t much on going back through their manuscripts after they illuminated them. I keep meaning to make an index one of these days, but I’ve got so much on my plate.”

Nico glanced around the room at the chirping birds, lazing reptiles, and department store’s worth of textiles.

“Ah ha!” she said. “Here it is.”

She turned the book around so the other two could see it. In a distinctly medieval style, with no real sense of lines or dimensions, was something not too different from an ink blot test. The illustration was all in black.

“A Rorschach test?” Nico asked.

“This was made about 800 years before the term ‘psychology’ was coined, kid. Look, it’s a man on a horse.”

Price pointed out the different parts of the figure and suddenly Nico could see it. A man all in black holding a lance in one hand and a sword in the other, atop a horse, also all black. Blood or oil or something dripped from both, further obscuring the nature of what they were looking at. Nico flipped a through a few pages. All of the other illustrations, though bizarre, were outlined and colored in a more traditional style.

“Why did they do this one like an ink blot?”

“That’s how the legend goes. He’s like a blot of ink on the horizon, dripping with some kind of weird oily substance. I never got the full story on that,” Kasprzak chimed in.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Nico said, looking closer at the illustration, and running his finger along it, “This looks like a poster or something I’ve seen on dorm walls.”

“You probably have,” Kasprzak agreed.

She rose and walked over to an umbrella stand stuck in one corner of the room. Instead of umbrellas, rolled up tubes of paper occupied it. She ran the rubber band down on two or three to check their contents, before finally saying, “Ah!” and unrolling a poster fully.

The poster was “framed” with the stylistic inscription “Frank Frazetta” at the top and “Death Dealer – 1973” in smaller letters at the bottom. Nico nodded. That was the image he had seen before. A knight, or an executioner, maybe, holding a bloody hybrid of axe and scythe, astride a black horse with what almost looked like a biohazard symbol on its harness. The knight held a shield with a black eagle inscription, but his face and body was obscured, as though in shadow…or as though it were shadow.

“That’s the one,” Nico whispered, “So this is the guy we’re dealing with.”

Kasprzak shrugged.

“This is an iconic illustration in, ah, the fantasy genre. I’ve heard stories that Frazetta based it on the actual Hunter of the Dead. Or, at least, this illustration from
De Vermis Mysteriis
. There’s even a story that Cicatrice once visited him to make sure he hadn’t seen the real Hunter. Any idea if it’s true, Carter?”

Price shrugged.

“There are a million stories about Cicatrice and The Hunter. As far as I know, that’s all they are. Stories. Fairy tales. Nursery rhymes.”

“So, what’s the…story?”

Kasprzak sat back down in her chair. She looked at Price.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if I turned out the lights and put a flashlight under my chin?”