Undead - One Foot In The Grave Part 4

The muscle car was fully turned now and beginning to accelerate, but it still seemed to be jerking through successive frames of sluggish film. It must have been a trick of perspective for I seemed to be moving twice as fast as the automobile. In ten subjective seconds we would meet.

And then what?

In my fury I had insane visions of plowing through the car's front end like it was so much breakaway cardboard or vaulting the hood to smash feet-first through the winds.h.i.+eld like in an old Chuck Norris movie. . . .

The headlights were just a few feet away when sanity finally prevailed. There was more than enough time to pirouette and sidestep, the fender caressing my pants leg as the car motored past-plenty of time remaining to reach through the driver's side window. I tore the lap belt and shoulder harness apart like crepe paper and yanked the driver out through the open window.

The car continued to meander down the street as I spun the man around to face me. He reached for something-a weapon, most likely. Time was still dragging so there was plenty of time to intercept his wrist. But I didn't do that. I gave in to the rage, instead. I slammed my fist into his face, distantly surprised at how easily bone and cartilage gave way before my knuckles. The man went limp in my grasp, blood literally bursting from ears, eyes, mouth, and the cratered remains of a nose.

Now the car snapped into high speed, veering off to the right and smas.h.i.+ng into a Coupe de Ville parked near the corner of the intersection. The madness was fading and I tossed the driver's corpse aside without even looking at his face. There was no point, anyway: not even his own mother could recognizehim now.

"Taj?" I called, like a man waking from an uncertain sleep.

"Over here." She was kneeling beside Garou's body. "Come help me."

I walked over in a daze, the adrenaline rush suddenly gone. I knelt beside her, feeling all dead inside, again. Was this part of the transformation? I wondered. This past year I had felt my emotions flicker and die, one by one, until anger, alone, remained. It was the one true pa.s.sion that I still recognized; everything else seemed like so much window dressing.

Mooncloud had turned the body over onto its back. Garou's face was b.l.o.o.d.y, her eyes disturbingly open and staring. Gently, I reached down and drew her eyelids closed with my fingertips.

"Get your grimy fingers out of my eyes!" Garou snarled. I fell over backwards and landed on my rear. Undignified maybe, but I had some consolation in the fact that my jeans were still dry.

"She's alive," Mooncloud explained gently.

Duh.

"As if it's not enough to get both legs broken along with crushed ribs and multiple skull fractures,"

Garou's "corpse" groused, "I have to suffer the indignity of this cub trying to poke my eyes out like some kind of Three Stooges routine." She turned her head and spat out a mouthful of blood. "Where's the perp?"

I was trying to get my legs back under me. "I guess I killed him."

"Great!" Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"It would have been better if we could have interrogated him." Mooncloud looked around. "We need to get her inside."

I was dubious. "Should we move her? Internal injuries-"

Garou clutched my arm in a weak grip, her own arm sagging at a funny angle. "I'm a lycanthrope, you idiot. I'm already starting to regenerate." She coughed, a wet ragged sound. "But I'll be more comfortable inside, in bed, and off the street."

"Plus we'll need to make a few alterations in the evidence of tonight's events before the authorities arrive." Mooncloud turned to a child who had just appeared from behind the Mercedes. "Mordecai, the driver is over there." She pointed at the crumpled body back down the street. "You know what to do."

As Mordecai pa.s.sed by I saw that my first impression was wrong: this was no child but an old dwarf dressed in livery and a fool's cap. The little man placed a couple of stubby fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill and complicated whistle as he hurried toward the corpse.

I gathered Lupe Garou into my arms as if she were some oversized rag doll. As I stood, I saw the cover of a manhole rise from the street and several more diminutive figures emerge. I turned to Mooncloud. "What-?"

"Knockers," she answered curtly. "Let's go."

"Yeah. . . ." Garou's voice was weak and I had to bow my head to listen. "The mines below the sewers are full of 'em. The Doman almost named the place after 'em. Can you imagine?" Her smile was cut short by another cough and Mooncloud's announcement that we were going in the front door. I nearly dropped her as her body squirmed, s.h.i.+fting in my arms, rea.s.signing ma.s.s and shape and flowing into the form of a great, bloodied wolf. Now her clothing hung loosely from her lupine form and Mooncloud quickly pulled it off, stuffing the tattered material in her purse.

"Come on, don't dawdle!" She tugged at my elbow as the great wooden doors, strapped and bound with iron bands and large oval rings, began to swing open. "Make way!" she yelled, pus.h.i.+ng through the gathering crowd. "Had a little accident out here! Coming through. Some guy just hit a dog and lost control of his car!"

"My Caddy!" a new voice shrilled. As the man pushed past, I looked back and saw that the body ofthe driver was already back behind the wheel of the GTO. There was no sign of the knockers and Mordecai was standing on the sidewalk, looking like nothing more than a curious spectator. Mooncloud was moving deeper into the castle's interior and I had to hurry to keep up.

The entry hall split three ways, opening up into a dark, cavernous room between two outer pa.s.sages.

As we pa.s.sed the inner portal and started down the left corridor I glanced in at what might have once served as a king's great hall. The darkness was studded with pinpoints of candlelight denoting constellations of tables. At the center of the great room was a nucleus of light, revealing a stage bordered by a vast, circular bar. I caught a glimpse of the dancers on the stage and suddenly understood Garou's sardonic comment regarding the knockers. Then I was past the portal, trying to keep up with Mooncloud as she continued down the outer hallway.

Antique elevator doors opened at the end of the corridor. Inside the filigreed iron cage was a tiny apparition perched atop a high stool. The man couldn't have topped three feet if standing erect and looked even smaller folded in on himself as he sat. His red hair, beard, hat, and spats formed a Christmasy contrast to his green frock coat and breeches. Tiny dark gla.s.ses bridged his face, delicately spanned between oversized ears and nose. He c.o.c.ked his head as they stepped aboard and sniffed delicately. "Fraulein Mooncloud?"

"Yes, Hinzelmann. We need to go down straightaway."

He pulled a lever that closed the doors, then pulled another and the cage started a smooth descent.

"It is Fraulein Garou, is it not?" he asked, continuing to stare straight ahead. "Is she hurt badly?" Genuine concern leaked through the formality.

"Not so badly that I won't be taking the stairs in a couple of days," the wolf growled. I nearly dropped her, again.

"Hinzelmann, this is Mr. Csejthe."

The little man nodded gravely without turning. "Herr Csejthe, guten Tag."

"Mr. Hinzelmann, sehr angenehm," I managed.

"Ach, it is nice to meet a young person with manners these days. Csejthe . . ." he ruminated, ". . .

from Hungary?"

I shook my head. "Frontenac."

"Frontenac?"

"Kansas," I elaborated. "Just next to Pittsburg, no 'H'."

"Pittsburgh-no-'H'?"

"Pittsburg, Kansas-with no 'H' on the end of Pittsburg. It's right next door to Frontenac." He looked blank so I added, "It's where I'm from."

"Ah!" A light dawned in his eyes. "Ich bitte um Entschuldigung-I mean originally."

"Oh. Originally, Kansas City. Missouri not Kansas."

The light dimmed, nearly going out and the little man grunted as the elevator came to a stop. "But your family-of the Nadasays, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," Mooncloud agreed as the doors opened. "There is much that Mr. Csejthe doesn't know, yet-particularly about himself."

"Another knocker?" I inquired as the doors closed behind us and we continued down a corridor hollowed out of solid stone.

"A hutchen."

"A what?"

"A German home sprite."

"Oh. Of course.""Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Mr. Csejthe?"

"More like sixteen bars with coda." The rattle of small-wheeled casters drew my attention up the corridor. A young woman dressed in a samite gown was pus.h.i.+ng a gurney toward us. A textbook Nordic beauty, she had pale blue eyes and wore her white-blond hair piled in coils upon her head. "Human?"

Mooncloud shook her head.

I sighed. "Of course not."

"Weisse Frauen."

"Weisse or weise?"

"One of the White Ladies," said the wolf.

"Hush," Mooncloud scolded. "No unnecessary talk or movement till you're more regenerated." She turned to me as the gurney arrived. " 'White' or 'wise' serve equally when dealing with the Fainen women. Where did you learn German?"

"My great grandfather. I picked up a smattering when I was a toddler."

"You seem to have kept up."

"I live in what used to be called the 'Little Balkans' area of Kansas." I shrugged. "Or did live, anyway.

"They called down and warned us," the pale woman said as I gently laid Garou's lupine form on the gurney. "Surgery is prepared and ready."

"Thank you, Magda." Mooncloud took my arm. "Take her on down. Tell Dr. Burton that I'll be along in a moment." She led me off down a side corridor. "I've got to go tend to Lupe, but we must get you settled, first." We came to a cross corridor and she called out: "Ah, Basa-Andree!"

There is no excellent beauty, Francis Bacon wrote, that hath not some strangeness in the proportion. Perhaps, but I'd warrant that Frank never imagined strangeness in every proportion. It was shuffling toward us now in the form of an old and very ugly crone.

"How is the little one?" it-she-rasped in an ancient, rusting voice.

"I think she'll be fine eventually, but I must tend her for now. Basa," she pulled me forward, "this is Christopher Csejthe. He's the one we were sent to recruit."

Basa-Andree clasped gnarled, lumpy hands together. "Ah! Welcome, honored guest! Please allow me to show you to your quarters." She looked me up and down. "I will draw you a hot bath and see that you are provided with fresh clothing." To Mooncloud: "Leave him to me, dearie. You just run along and I'll see that he's ready for his audience with the Doman."

Mooncloud smiled gratefully. "Go along, Chris; I'll be by to check on you later. You're in good hands, now: Basa-Andree is one of the chamberlains."

I leaned over and whispered, "She's not human either, is she?"

She shook her head. "Aguane."

"Of course. Don't know why I didn't see that immediately."

The old woman cackled as Mooncloud took her leave. "Come with me, dearie. Stefan has decreed that you are to be shown every courtesy." She cackled again as she started off down the corridor. The grasp of her hand was like weathered iron and I tottered behind her, trying to keep up.

My quarters turned out to be a six-room suite that rivaled any hotel I'd ever visited save for the fact that there were no windows and the walls were dressed stone. The aguane showed me through the various rooms, explaining that the kitchenette would be stocked as soon as my dietary needs were understood and as for the closets. . .

Less than two minutes after we had entered the suite, two brownies and a leprechaun (or so Basa-Andree identified them) had bustled through the door. The tour was sidetracked as they subjected me to a thorough series of measurements and detailed questions pertaining to fas.h.i.+on preferences,fabrics, and which side I "dressed" on. One of the brownies even held up a color chart and p.r.o.nounced me a "dramatic winter." Then they were bustling back out the door and apologizing that it would be close to an hour before they could return with a complete wardrobe.

"Now," the old crone cackled, "how about a nice, relaxing, hot bath?"

The bathroom was s.p.a.cious, with a great sunken tub that could comfortably accommodate three with room to spare. As the steaming water neared the top, recessed jets turned on, swirling my bath into a bubbling jacuzzi.

"I've taken the liberty of laying out a variety of toiletries and shaving implements," the old chamberlain said, turning the taps to the off position. "If you have any grooming needs, just utilize the house phone to make your needs known."

"Great." I squinted at the reflective panels of gla.s.s. "How about a special mirror that will enable a semi-vampire to shave himself?"

She grinned, displaying teeth that looked like a two-hundred year-old picket fence. "I think we can come up with something that will satisfy. . . ."

I lay back with my eyes closed, letting the heat from the water sink into my cool flesh. It was the first time that I could remember feeling warm in days. Relaxation gave way to sleep and I had a most curious dream.

In this dream I was still lying back in the tub, my arms and legs drifting in the bubbling swirls of heated water. A woman's head poked above the water's frothy surface. "So what would you prefer?"

she asked, her green hair swirling about with the currents. "A trim, a full shave, or a compromise where you keep the mustache?"

"Full shave," I murmured, bemused by the turn this dream was taking.

She rose up halfway out of the water to reach for the shaving implements that had been laid out on the side of the tub. Now there was no question that I was dreaming: not only was this green-tressed woman both bare and beautiful, but her lower body seemed to be occupying the same s.p.a.ce as my own.

Had she been real, I would have felt her weight upon me, legs straddling my sides. Instead, she seemed to have no substance below the waterline: her waist seemed solid enough, but the pale flesh below her navel seemed to bleach toward transparency, her hips disappearing and reappearing in the roiling froth of the water.

An interesting effect, I thought. Almost as interesting as the effect of her bending over me. . . .

And then I was distracted by the sensation of cool lather against my hot, sweaty face, surprisingly solid fingers smoothing it down my cheeks, beneath my chin, across my jaw and throat.

The shave was pleasant.

The "aftershave" even more so.

I awoke to the fact that the waterjets had been shut off. I opened my eyes with the memory of the watery barber fresh in my mind. Instead, I was treated to the sight of rheumy, yellow eyes that bulged from an ancient, leathery face: the aguane.

I repressed an impolite scream.

"The Doman sends for ye, lad," she cackled. "I would'na keep himself waiting any longer than necessary." She handed me a large towel and turned to go. At the doorway she paused. "Nice shave."

Her mouth stretched into a gap-toothed grin and she disappeared around the corner.

I put a hand to my face: it was true, I was now clean-shaven.

And the closets were now full of clothing, shoes and boots arranged in two military lines across their floor areas.

I dressed in a daze, scarcely aware of my surroundings as I examined the pink patches of new skin on my elbows, hands, and knees. Gone were the oozing wounds from my ungraceful slide on the asphaltfrom just an hour before.

Gone was the life I had known just four days before.