Stalking the Vampire (10 page)

“Is he alone?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Okay,” said the detective, heading off toward the door. “Thanks, Pops.”

“You're welcome, and the name is Thucydides.”

“Really?”

“Nah…but it sounds better than Etherbert.”

Mallory stopped when he reached the door, then turned to Felina. “You come with me.” Then, to McGuire: “You wait out here.”

He knocked on the door. There was no answer. He turned the knob and pushed it open.

Suddenly a voice rang out: “Not one step farther if you want to live.”

Mallory took a step into the room, holding his hands in front of him, palms up.

“I'm not armed,” he said. “I just want to talk.”

“Of course you're armed,” said the sibilant voice. “You've got two that I can see, and who knows how the hell many more you've got hidden beneath that trenchcoat?”

Suddenly a reptilian creature emerged from a darkened corner of the room. Its skin was green, rough, and scaled, it had a pair of wings on its back, its hands were clawlike, its feet were actual claws, and its face was a cross between a snake and a crocodile. It wore a leather harness and carried a spear.

“You know,” said Mallory, staring at it, “if someone were to ask me whether you were animal, vegetable, or mineral, my only answer would be: Probably.”

“Keep a civil tongue in your head, Jack,” said the creature. “You and your cat are in deep trouble.”

“All I want to do is talk to Aristotle Draconis,” said Mallory.

“Yeah, that's what they all say. And the next day there's an interview in the paper, and he's misquoted six ways to Sunday, and who gets blamed for it?
We
do.”

“Who are you?”

“I'm part of the group that paid his way over and booked his tour,” answered the creature.

“What do you guys call yourselves?” asked Mallory.

“The Dragon Writers, of course.”

“Your club is composed entirely of dragons that write?”

“It's a
guild.
And Draconis is our spiritual leader.”

“And you're all poets?”

“Certainly not,” said the dragon. “We've got a science fiction writer, a Western writer, two espionage writers, and thirty-seven romance writers.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Dragons don't seem to sell. I wish I knew how otherwise talented writers could find so many love stories about vampires.”

“And what kind of writer are you?”

“Me? I write hard-boiled private eye stories. Did you ever hear of Wings O'Bannon? He's my character.”

“No, I'm afraid not.”

“Damn!” muttered the dragon. “What's the good of being the greatest prose writer alive if you only sold six hundred and fifty-one copies of your last book—and half of
them
went to relatives?”

“So how come you're not busy writing?” asked Mallory.

“Got to make a living,” answered the dragon. “Writing's all very well, but my publisher is three years late with my check, and he's one of the faster ones.” He paused. “We're getting off the subject here. You want to tell me who you are and what you're doing here before I rip you limb from limb and paper the walls with what's left of your pet?”

Mallory pulled out his license. “My name's John Justin Mallory, and I just want to talk to Draconis for a few minutes.”

The dragon stared at the license. “That's for real, right?” he said excitedly. “I mean, you didn't pick it up in a novelty shop?”

“It's real.”

“Oh my goodness—a real shamus!” exclaimed the dragon. “I've never met one before. We have to talk! I've got my new book in the next room. It's only about eight hundred pages so far—I'm not quite halfway done with it. Could you look it over and give me a couple of hints?”

“I'm not a writer.”

“Writers are a dime a dozen,” said the dragon contemptuously. “Every idiot and his brother is a writer. I need to talk to a real private eye.” He extended a claw. “Scaly Jim Chandler at your service.”

“Scaly Jim Chandler?” repeated Mallory, taking his claw and trying not to wince as the nails dug into his skin.

“Well, that's my pen name,” said the dragon apologetically. “Actually, I'm Nathan Botts. But who ever heard of a hard-drinking, womanizing, tough-guy writer called Nathan Botts?”

“Well, Nathan…”

“Scaly Jim,” the dragon corrected him.

“Well, Scaly Jim,” said Mallory, “I'd love to look at your manuscript, but I'm right in the middle of a case, and Aristotle Draconis may hold the key to it.”

“A case?” The dragon's homely features lit up. “Is it…
murder?
”

“Yeah.”

“Goddamn, that's exciting!”

“The victim would disagree with you.”

“Look, Mr. Mallory…” began Nathan.

“Just Mallory will do.”

“Yes, right, of course—no shamus wants to be called ‘Mister'. Look, Mallory, I can make up mysteries with the best of them, but I've never been out in the field, so to speak.” He paused, shifting his weight uncomfortably, staring at the floor. “And I was wondering…that is, if you wouldn't mind…could I…uh…?”

“Tag along?” suggested Mallory.

“Yes.”

“If there's still a case after I talk to Draconis, I don't see why not,” replied Mallory. “What the hell, I need all the help I can get.”

“Great!” cried the dragon enthusiastically. Then: “I thought private eyes liked to work solo.”

“
This
private eye likes to live to the end of the case and isn't too proud to accept help whenever it's offered.”

“Come on, now,” said the dragon disbelievingly. “Next you'll be telling me you don't have an oversexed secretary called Velma.”

“I don't.”

Nathan frowned. “Well, that cuts a quick three hundred pages of gratuitous sex and violence out of the book,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment. “I thought you guys were more self-sufficient.”

“Only in novels.”

The dragon sighed. “I've got a lot to learn.”

“And the sooner I see Draconis, the sooner you can start,” said Mallory.

Nathan stood aside and pointed to a door behind him. “Right through there, Mallory.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

“Scaly Jim.”

“How about just Jim now that we're going to be friends?”

“We are?” The dragon's homely face lit up. “You know, my girlfriend calls me Cuddles.”

“Let's stick to Jim,” said Mallory. “It's more professional.”

“Right. We're colleagues, aren't we?”

“As soon as I talk to Draconis.”

“You want me to sit in on it while you grill him?” asked Nathan. “Maybe add a little muscle if it's needed?”

“Not just yet.”

“Okay. I'll be right out here.”

Mallory turned to Felina. She was curled up the floor, snoring peacefully.

“When she wakes up, tell her I'll be out in a minute,” said Mallory. “You hear anything that sounds like furniture or people being knocked around, both of you come in on the double.”

“Got it, partner.”

Mallory opened the door and walked into a dressing room. Aristotle Draconis sat at a table that held the evening's readings. He was dabbing some sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief. Above the table was a mirror. Draconis himself left no reflection, but he saw Mallory standing behind him and turned to face him.

“I saw you in the audience,” he said. “You were the only one who met my gaze. I admire that.” He paused. “You should know that I only give autographs by prior arrangement.”

“I'm more interested in when you give hickeys,” said Mallory, flashing his credentials.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You're a vampire.”

“I don't deny it,” said Draconis. “There's no law against being a vampire.”

“No, there isn't,” agreed Mallory. “But the last time I looked, there's a law against murder.”

“I haven't murdered anyone.”

“That's what we have to talk about,” said Mallory. “You came over here on a ship.”

“Yes, the
Moribund Manatee
out of Liverpool,” Draconis confirmed.

“There was a young man on the same ship,” continued Mallory. “His name was Rupert Newton.”

“Ah, young Newton. A very engaging fellow. I spent a few pleasant hours playing canasta and rummy with him.”

“He was a very engaging fellow when he boarded the boat,” said Mallory. “He was well on his way to becoming a very engaging vampire when he got off.”

Draconis nodded his head. “Yes, I know. Terrible pity. I assume you know him?”

“He's my partner's nephew.”

“Give him my regards.”

“That'll be a little difficult,” said Mallory. “He's in the morgue.”

“And you think
I
—?”

“That's what I want to know,” said Mallory. “You bit him on the boat. He was scared to death that you were following him around the city. And now he's dead.”

“You have it all wrong, Mr. Mallory,” said Draconis.

“Tell me why.”

“I didn't bite that boy.”

“He says he saw you leaving his stateroom right after he'd been bitten.”

“That is true,” said Draconis. “I was trying to
prevent
his being bitten. I was too late. What he saw was me chasing the creature that
did
bite him.”

“You want to expand on that?” said Mallory.

“I am a poet. That has been my whole life. Like many others, I was initiated into the legion of the undead, but unlike most, I did not accept my new station in life. My entire existence revolves around elevating people, not harming them. I have never bitten another human being, not once.”

“How do you stay alive?”

Draconis walked over to a small, portable refrigerator and opened it. “Do you see these half-gallon containers, Mr. Mallory? Each is filled with blood. This is my own private supply. It travels with me, and I am never without it.”

“Whose is it?”

Draconis smiled. “It comes from my private herd of cattle,” he replied.
“I raise them not for meat or milk, but as blood banks. I have that in common with the Maasai of Africa.”

“I thought you had to drink human blood,” said Mallory.

“It is more nourishing, to be sure, but it is not essential. After all, my kind takes its name from the vampire bats of South America, and what do they live on?”

“Cattle,” said Mallory.

“That is correct.”

“Then why don't more vampires do what you do?”

“Many lose their moral compass when they are bitten,” answered Draconis. “Others cannot stand the constant hunger, for as I have said, the blood I drink is not as satisfying as that which flows through your veins. And for some, it is simply not practical. Where are you going to find an unprotected herd of cattle in New York City?”

“Makes sense.”

“Then you accept my story?”

“For the moment,” said Mallory. “But if you didn't bite the kid, who did? You must know, if you were trying to save him.”

“I don't think you'll believe me,” said Draconis.

“Perhaps not,” said Mallory. “But why don't you tell me and let me decide?”

“He was bitten by the worst of our kind, a terrible, centuries-old creature from Transylvania itself.”

“And his name?”

“Vlad Drachma.”

“Where can I find him?”

“Take my word for it, Mr. Mallory, you don't want to,” said Draconis sincerely. “Rupert Newton is already dead. Why should you join him?”

“You were willing to go up against this Drachma. Why shouldn't I?”

“I am already dead,” answered Draconis. “What further harm can he do me?”

“Just tell me where he is,” said Mallory.

“I can't give you an exact location,” replied Draconis. “He travels with his own coffin, of course. There are places—very specialized mortuaries—that
rent out space to traveling vampires. Your best bet is to try one of them, and your best hope is that you never find him.”

“Thanks,” said Mallory, walking to the door. “If you're telling the truth, we probably won't meet again. If you're lying, you're going to find out just how long the undead can suffer.”

“Fair enough,” said Draconis. Then, just as Mallory reached for the door, he added: “What did you think of my poetry?”

“I think H. P. Lovecraft would have admired it,” said Mallory.
And probably seven other people in the world
, he added mentally.

Draconis smiled for the first time. “Thank you, Mr. Mallory. You have made my night. I just hope I haven't unmade yours.”

Mallory walked into the outer room.

“Do we still have a case?” asked Nathan Botts the dragon.

“Yeah,” said Mallory. “Look, if you have to stick around and guard Draconis…”

“To hell with that,” said Nathan. “He's got fifty times my strength and even better teeth. Let's go.”

Mallory nudged Felina gently with his toe. “Wake up.”

“I wasn't sleeping,” she said defensively, getting to her feet.

“What
were
you doing?”

“Resting my eyes,” she said. “And my arms, and my legs, and my back, and my ears, and—”

“Skip it,” said Mallory, leading them out into the corridor, where McGuire was waiting nervously.

“Bats, say hello to Scaly Jim Chandler,” said Mallory. “He's joined the team.”

“Hi,” said the little vampire.