August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Gypsy (Part 6)

Mr. Kane sat at a flimsy table, uncomfortably clothed in a three piece suit. The plastic chair was making his back ache, and Professor Langley still had enough wind in him to drive a storm across the ocean. He was giving a labyrinthine answer to a direct question: “How has the British government’s licensing procedure changed over the last decade, and how has it affected independent investigators.” Kane’s answer was simple.

“They have tied the hands of well meaning investigators and opened the door for charlatans that run pyramid schemes disguised as ‘Supernatural Suppression Societies’. It has been a load of shit, and it won’t get better.” The crowd reacted poorly to most of Kane’s answers, and he didn’t care. Their discontented rumblings just meant that he was telling the truth.

Kane closed his dark, abyssal eyes. Folks put make-up on the dead ‘cause they want to pretend that they’re still fine. Just sleeping. The way I see it, people hate the truth. The truth is not a pretty girl with a swan neck. Even if it was, she’d have strangling marks on that nice neck. No, the truth is a gorgon with a bulging tongue and dead eyes. Kane opened his eyes and studied the others on his panel.

They were a sad lot, mostly fat and retired. Old Allard sat on the far end of the table, dozing lightly, lost in a cloud of dreams. Next to him was the faded flower that used to be called Violet Rose. Nowadays, no one really bothered calling her anything.

The Professor was the youngest of them and even he had more wrinkles than a baby Shar Pei. His frantic gestures and grand words were most of what was left of a once brilliant mind that had all ready started to atrophy. That could easily be August in thirty years.

 
He turned his eyes on himself, seeing a man that looked like a tiger in a zoo. Proud, vital, and out of his element. He suit was tight; the wool was making his flesh crawl. His mouth was dry. He smelled the stink of humanity all around him. His tanned hand tensed into a fist as he began to feel anxious. He stroked the revolver at his side and it reassured him.

He scanned the audience, some of whom were falling asleep as the Professor lectured the crowd on the finer points of form 27-1-AB/9002, which allowed a private supernatural investigator access to Her Majesty’s private library. He lauded it like the Second Coming, despite there being no occult books of interest in Her Majesty’s library that weren’t all ready available to even Tom, Mabel, and Jackson.

His eyes moved to his silver pocket watch. He ran his thumb on the embossed wolves that cavorted on the circumference of the lid. Popping open the watch, he read the time, and groaned when he realized he had another hour to spend in the convention hall.

“Elijah Kane, Sir?” asked a waif-like girl dressed in an old-fashioned suit with a high collar. “What do you feel about the treatment of Elves in America compared to the treatment of Elves in France?” Kane drew his full attention to the girl, and looked deep into her golden eyes. She warily backed away like a person would back away from a rabid dog.

“I think that the treatment of Elves in America is despicable. Holding them and breeding them like endangered species is wrong. It is nothing short of eugenics. Their laboratory lives are wasted, particularly since captive Elves life about a quarter of their natural lifespan. In France, they are at least allowed to die out like the obsolete species they are.” Kane spoke doggedly, his tone indomitable.

“You can’t mean that,” said Violet, stirring weakly from her seat. “A people are judged by their acts, especially their acts towards the least of its members. Elves have given much to French culture, and allowing their species to die is an unallowable and unforgivable sin.”

“Yes, I agree with Miss. Rose…” said the Professor before Kane interrupted him.

“The sin is the one being committed in America! They are genetically altering the Elves through their experiments. When the day that Elves in America are free comes, their species will be indistinct from humanity,” argued Kane vehemently.

“See here Kane, we…” said the Professor before Violet Rose interrupted him.

“But isn’t that what you want? A society free of supernaturals? No more werewolves, no more vampires. Why are the Elves free from your wrath?” Violet’s neck was turning pink with anger.

“Vampires are a blight. Werewolves are a blight. Elves are the best of all of us. Most are incapable of evil. Show me a vampire that doesn’t harm society, and I’ll show you a vampire that has hidden his past.” The hall fell silent; the only sound in the quiet was Allard’s soft snoring.

“I suppose we must agree to disagree then?” said the Professor as he folded his hands over his stomach. Both Kane and Rose glared at the Professor. The girl in the audience sat, her head dipped shamefully. With difficulty, the panel discussion went on, but the audience seemed to lose its enthusiasm. When the audience broke apart, Kane was left sitting on the stage with Violet Rose.

“That was low, Vi,” grumbled Kane. “What do you think Sasha would say if she was still here?”

“She’d say that her husband’s a damn fool that’s trying to purify the world with fire, even if innocents need to die.” replied Violet.

“Everyone needs to die sometime,” retorted Kane weakly, “Even Allard, someday.”

“These are lives, Eli. These are real people with real contributions to society. Even now, medical research is being done on vampire blood and its disease fighting ability. Have you heard about Bukowski’s New Treatment? He has developed a comprehensive program designed to rehabilitate criminal vampires and help them reintegrate into society. His work with Sebottendorff has been miraculous.”

“Claus Von Sebottendorff? As a man he was a monster, and as a vampire he is a fiend.”

“Even so, if life can be preserved, even unlife, it is worth it. Our time here is precious. You of all people know that.” Violet Rose took Kane’s hand and held it with each of her own.

“Which is why they must die. No matter how many treatments there are, no matter what research will be done, at the end of the day a duck is a duck.” retorted Kane, pulling away from the fragile looking woman.

“And what does Rebecca think of this attitude?” asked Violet.

“She agrees. The government took her ten years ago, just before she finished college. Seems like half-Elf is enough to get you taken into a program. Of course, you didn’t know that, did you Vi?” Kane’s words were acrid.

“I’m sorry Eli! I didn’t know,” apologized Violet frantically.

“At least they let me see her once a week. She’s doing well in that damned commune. If you’ll let me go, I have business to attend to. Just ’cause I’m on the old fogies panel, it doesn’t mean I’m retired.”

“Eli, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, you sure are.” Kane pushed past her brashly.

“Elijah Kane, don’t be a damned fool!”

“What do you want me to do?” raved Kane, “I tried to walk the narrow, but my balance got bad. Now all I have is revenge.”

“Don’t leave like this Eli. I know you are better than this.” Violet Rose ordered, despite being dwarfed by Kane.

“Good bye Vi. Good bye and good luck. Tell Charles I said hi.” Kane began to walk away. He felt Violet’s eyes boring into his back. She was watching him, probably crying.

“He’s dead Kane. Just like you’ll be if you keep on this maniac path.” Violet’s voice wavered as she called out. “And don’t think you can fight your way out of Hell.”

Kane hesitated for just a moment before he disappeared in the crowd.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: Old Souls (Conclusion)

“Either you can fight me, or you can die.” hissed Sebottendorff angrily. He tossed his broken Luger to the floor and clenched his fists tightly. His cold eyes locked with Claude’s; he saw the same eyes looking back at him. They were the dead eyes of a vampire, eyes that were only expressive when the vampire made a conscious effort. Sebottendorff’s lips parted, exposing his fearsome maw.

“Do you remember Lucia at all?” asked Claude, referring to the vampiress that had changed both him and Sebottendorff. Sebottendorff ignored Claude’s verbal feint and lashed out at him with his claws. Each deadly talon flew far from their mark as Claude hopped backwards. He raised his arms to deflect another of Sebottendorff’s swings. The savage claws scraped across Claude’s ivory skin, leaving a trace of red in their wake.

Adrian, pulling another vial from his belt, began a new chant. He seemed to speak with two voices; one was low and droning, while the other was sweet and lilting. The soul contained within the vial began to vibrate, trying to tear itself from Adrian’s clenched fist. Sebottendorff didn’t recognize the spell being cast, and didn’t dare take his eyes off of Claude for a moment. He resolved to wait for the spell and rely on his natural abilities to escape its effect.

“Lucia taught me a lesson more valuable than any of the tricks that you showed me,” said Claude, oblivious to the wounds on his arms. “She taught me about freedom, and a world of possibilities. If I killed you, I would undo any good that you may do in the future.” Sebottendorff snickered, dismissing Claude’s words as naive. “You can change, Claus. You can find happiness in peace.” Sebottendorff guffawed dramatically.

“The funny part is that you actually believe that.” said Sebottendorff breathlessly. “We are predators, and the world is a buffet. It’s ours to dominate. We are the stronger race, and it is in our hands to mold this world into perfection.”

“Do you think you can really control the spirit of mankind? This can never be; it is too strong. In part, it is that same spirit that animates us. That inner strength cannot be cowed or whipped into submission. Such a task would be akin to whipping the ocean in order to make it behave.”

“I guess that giving up is all that’s left to do…” said Sebottendorff as he wheeled about and lunged towards Adrian. Sebottendorff glided gracefully through the air, hitting the ground and tumbling towards Adrian with the fluidity of mercury. Finding his footing, the vampire reached for Adrian’s outstretched hands.

“I’ll have no more tricks from you.” said Sebottendorff, trying to crush Adrian’s hands.

“No more. Just this one.” said Adrian, falling silent as a cocoon of green light enveloped Sebottendorff. Sebottendorff cursed and moaned as the light burned through the hand that grasped Adrian. Adrian began his chant anew; with each passing minute, the aura of light closed in around the shouting vampire.

“Don’t kill him!” pleaded Claude. Adrian glanced at Claude. Twisted in anger, Adrian’s face no longer appeared to be human, appearing more akin to a snarling devil.

“He is beyond saving.” said Adrian as his features became more grotesque.

***

“Shit! Tobias, be okay, please, please be okay.” August was cradling the half-human form of Tobias as the elevator ascended. He had used simple cantrips to confound the vampire spawn that flooded the hospital‘s halls, allowing him to bring Tobias to the safety of a utility closet. Tobias gasped for air; one of his lungs collapsed from the gun shot, and fragments of silver were tearing through his veins. “You can’t die. We can’t keep this show going without our muscle.” said August.

“I’m not going to die in a broom closet.” resolved Tobias, speaking slowly while struggling for air. “Go help Minnie. She needs you more than me.”

“I can’t leave you here.” argued August.

“I all ready told you. I’m not dying in a broom closet. Now go, before I make you go.” Tobias said with a growl. Hesitantly, August left his friend in the closet, hoping that the vampire spawn would overlook it. He recited the words for an illusion and hid the door as best he could, disguising it as a vending machine. Quietly, he made his way to the stairs that lead up to the Intensive Care Unit.

***

Minerva shielded her eyes from the fire that blazed before her. The shape of a radiant woman gleamed in wheels of fire that seared the flesh of the vampire spawn. She had been as furtive as she could be; she used her senses to find the safest path through the horde of vampire spawn. Despite her best efforts, she found herself surrounded. She started to draw a magical circle on the floor when the fiery form appeared, ascending through the floor. As Minerva’s eyes adjusted, she could make out faint details of the figure; she was instantly reminded of Shiva as Nataraja. The radiant woman glided on the air, singeing the vampire spawn that retreated before her.

“Who is that?” asked August as he exited the stairwell, finding himself next to Minerva and awed by the spectacle of the burning woman. He looked closely, and recognized her dark, round eyes. “Dr. Kholsa!” he exclaimed, answering his own question. The woman turned, smiling at him serenely.

“Come! Antoni Zelinski is down that hall. Follow me.” said Prabha Kholsa.

Contessa felt her magical shield failing. She felt like she was suffocating under the pile of writhing bodies. Unceasingly, they tried to penetrate her shield, but she was able to exert herself. She heard some gun shots over the din of the vampire spawn, but she knew that there would be no rescue for her. As she felt the last of her energy drain away, she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. She encouraged herself to be brave.

“Death is just another step in life. It is when we discover what is beyond the veil. The spirit is free to roam.” Contessa closed her eyes as her shield shattered with a loud crack. Luckily, the shield had survived long enough. The sound she heard was not the choir of the celestial spheres, but the demands of Dr. Kholsa.

“Once you have your strength back, go down to Utility closet 2B. You will find a werewolf in need of care. Until you can get there, get on the phone and call in any healers you might know. We’re going to need a lot of hands.” ordered Prabha. August and Minerva were standing beside Mr. Zelinski’s bed. Unfortunately, he had not fared as well as Contessa. He had been horrifically mauled by the vampire spawn, who had started to eat his body during their frenzy. Tears welled up in August’s eyes; he had failed and was all ready starting to berate himself for his failure.

Minerva somberly placed a bed sheet over the remains, and noticed a shattered gold chain on the floor. A strange charm hung from one of its links; she had seen it before, she was sure of it.

“It’s from the Vampire Folio. There was a small sigil illustrated on the frontispiece.” she said, to herself more than to anybody else.

Dr. Kholsa, still glowing with a golden aureole, covered herself with a lab coat and tried to comfort August.

“We’re not done yet.” said August grimly. “I shouldn’t have left Claude and Adrian alone with Sebottendorff.” Pushing away Prabha, August raced out of the room. Fueled by anger and fear, he rushed down the stairs. He started to push his energy into his palms; he knew what spell he would cast; he would erase Sebottendorff from reality. He knew that casting the spell would cut down on his lifespan, but he needed to be certain that Sebottendorff was gone forever.

His body tingled with electricity as he strode into the lobby; he felt the weight of all those that Sebottendorff had slain pushing him along. They were calling for blood, and August would satiate them.

***

When Minerva and Prabha arrived in the lobby, they found Adrian pinned to the ground, with August standing above him menacingly.

“You had him! Why didn’t you kill him!” shouted August, a ball of energy growing in his hands.

“That damn hippie vampire broke my concentration. The two of them overcame me, then ran. I was just regaining my bearings when you showed up.” said Adrian, his words swift and begging for acceptance.

“You are a liar!” accused August.

“Stop it!” yelled Minerva, her voice splitting the air like a thunderclap. August looked at his hands, then at Adrian. Then, he looked at Minerva. Dismissing the spell, he dropped to the floor, weeping.

“How could he do that!?” raged August. “How could he stab us in the back like that?!”

“He’s a vampire, August,” said Minerva, “he knows how people behave. He didn’t want us to kill Sebottendorff.”

“But why?” pleaded August.

“Because he has hope.” answered Adrian. “He thinks he can save Sebottendorff from himself. If he can, then the world will be better for it. If not, well, it ends the same way it would have ended here.”

Prabha approached August and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s not worry about what we cannot do. There are those that need help now. Let us tend to them.” said the doctor, helping August to his feet. Reluctantly, he followed Prabha as she led them back into the hospital. He wondered where Sebottendorff would go and how he managed to escape the police that surrounded the hospital. He shook the thoughts from his head; he couldn’t do anything now, except for help bind wounds and say last rights to the dying.

———————————————————————————————————————————————

It pains me to finish this story arc of August and Minerva. I was terribly uncertain of how I wanted things to end. I wanted Sebottendorff to survive; I love that evil bastard too much to kill him. Originally, I had Claude yanking out his heart, then Adrian would use a spell to destroy it. But then, I was left wondering how I would bring back Sebottendorff? I decided at the last minute that it would end this way, and I feel that it makes more sense. Despite the anticlimax, I feel that the story ends in a satisfying way.

August is shown to have weaknesses, while Minerva continues to suffer with her vow against using magic. Adrian, who comes from my “The Room” series, shows himself to be what August could become. Meanwhile, August has a potential love interest, and Tobias is injured but bad assily fine. I skipped the usual post-case ice cream, mostly because of A&M’s failure to get the job done. No dead/vanquished monster = no ice cream.

The next story arc will be set in Paris, where August and Minerva are attending a conference and discover that August, much like myself, is a gypsy magnet. Excitement?

~H 

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: Old Souls (Part Eight)

Contessa sat quietly at the nurse’s station. The night had been peaceful; Dr. Kholsa asked her to keep track of the patient in the ICU called Zelinski. The doctor had told her that he was a special case, which meant that his injuries were of a supernatural nature. She was to apply a thick salve to his wounds each hour, and if the infection spread any further, she was to apply some of her own healing powers. She was a young witch, but her powers of healing were blossoming quickly. Her eyes scanned the romance novel she was reading. She didn’t notice the hissing black creatures that spilled into the hallway, and when she did, it was all ready too late.

She threw up her hands, calling on a shield of magical energy. One of the monsters was deflected to the ground, and another tumbled into a linen cart. The creatures, assembled as a mob, swarmed over the desk, clawing and tearing at the magical shield, pushing Contessa’s powers to their brink. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold the shield when she started to hear gunfire and the sounds of a struggle.

***

Sebottendorff reveled in violence. The small handful of vampire spawn he had brought with him had grown into an unruly mob. The police, thinking it was a normal hostage situation, had been slow to show force, which allowed his minions to do their work. He had few worries about the police entering the hospital secretly, as he had managed to populate the entire building with his servants. Closing his eyes, he could see the eyes of any of his spawn, and he watched the fight in the ICU intently, until he heard the sound of glass shattering. A terrible, shaggy wolf-man had burst through the glass doors of the hospital and began clawing his way towards Sebottendorff.

The dark furred beast was savage and decisive in its movements; Sebottendorff smiled cruelly as the werewolf pulled the arm off of one of the vampire spawn.

“So, this is what they send to fight me?” Sebottendorff cackled, unbuttoning the top of his uniform and opening his hands; vicious, black talons pushed from his finger tips as he locked eyes with Tobias. In two long strides, Tobias lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the vampire, trying to restrain him. The werewolf laced his fingers together, holding the vampire’s arms tight to his torso.

Wearing shining wingtips, Adrian, who had driven Minerva and Tobias to the hospital, strode into the hospital’s lobby. Holding up one of the glowing green vials that held all the power of a human life, he began to chant. The illumination, while faint, was repulsive to the vampire spawn, which hissed and groaned in the presence of the light. Minerva, intent on getting up to Mr. Zelinski, rushed towards the elevators, dodging past Sebottendorff’s growling children.

***

The green Ford Escort station wagon screeched to a halt behind the police barricade. August, laden with the Vampire Folio, stepped out of the car. Claude followed suit, bringing an umbrella with him. The officer in charge of the scene wanted to hold the pair back, but when he saw the green light radiating from the hospital’s lobby, he realized that this was a situation appropriate for August.

“Listen son, you be on your guard. The place is crawling with those things.” said Officer Garibaldi, a sincere look of concern painted on his face. “I know this is your thing, but this is getting ugly fast.”

“Thanks for the concern, but we all have our jobs to do.” said August, trying to seem brave despite the pounding in his chest. Claude followed August closely, intensity replacing the content and happy look that normally dressed his face. For a moment, he felt like Bruce Lee coming to save the day.

Walking through shattered doorway, they saw the titanic struggle. By sheer brute force, Sebottendorff broke free of Tobias’ suffocating grasp and assumed the stance of a boxer. Moving swiftly, the vampire landed a series of blows across Tobias’ body. Each hit left blood trailing in its wake.

Tobias clawed furiously at the air, unable to land a blow on the elusive vampire. Adrian’s chant reached a crescendo as he crushed the vial in his hand. I long, shimmering lance appeared in his hand, and with perfect form, he hurled the energy spear at Sebottendorff. However, the vampire moved from the deadly weapon’s path at the last moment. Yet, the spear broke Sebottendorff’s concentration for just a moment; it was enough time for Tobias to seize him by the neck.

The muscles in his body tensed as he lifted the vampire into the air. Ferociously, Tobias began to rip at Sebottendorff’s body with his free claw. Claude rushed forward; he saw that Sebottendorff had pulled the silver death’s head button from his lapel.

“Watch out!” shouted Claude, as Sebottendorff plunged the pin into Tobias’ chest. The werewolf recoiled in agony, pawing at the silver bauble. A gunshot rang out; Sebottendorff stood with a luger in his hand, his neck heavily bruised from Tobias’ hand.

“Down boy.” he said cheekily, watching blood seep from the gunshot wound in Tobias’ chest. “Stay.” he said, firing again.

“Stop it Claus!” said Claude, walking towards Sebottendorff.

“It’s only self defense, brother.” said Sebottendorff, smirking.

“No! This is murder. And don’t call me brother! The woman that made us what we are is all we have in common.” said Claude excitedly.

“I taught you everything you know. Do you think you’ll be able to stop me?” taunted Sebottendorff.

“That’s why I brought this.” replied Claude, indicating the umbrella. “This might take a while, so I figured I’d need some protection from the sun.”

Stealthily, August tossed the Vampire Folio to Adrian and tried to make his way towards Tobias. He drew an imaginary symbol on his hand and prepared to press it on Tobias’ bloody wound. Claude saw that Sebottendorff aimed his pistol at August. Rushing forward, the bullet landed in Claude’s stomach.

“Go get your friend to safety.” said Claude as his hand snapped around the barrel of Sebottendorff’s pistol.

“You can’t beat me in a fight.” said Sebottendorff as August ushered Tobias to the elevators.

“Who said I’m going to fight you.” replied Claude as the barrel of the gun collapsed and shattered to pieces.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: Old Souls (Part Seven)

They walked in syncopated elegance; as they walked the streets, the crowds fled from them like they were parading a head upon a spike before them. Expediently, they made their way to the hospital. Sebottendorff, proud in his uniform and accompanied by his six dark servants, approached the receptionist with a haughty air. His boots shined brilliantly as they clattered against the polished tile floor. The receptionist sat, barricaded behind her desk, which was thick, wide, and curving. She glanced up at Sebottendorff and peered at him through her thick cat’s eyes framed glasses. She looked at the vampire with a look of disbelief.

“What’s this? Some kinda joke?” she asked, looking for the hidden cameras that she knew must have been concealed somewhere. The pale man, in his dark uniform, grinned predatorily, exposing his mouth filled with pointed, shark-like teeth. He pointed at the girl and one of the men that flanked him leaped across the expanse of the desk. She clawed helplessly at his thick, dead skin as his hands wrapped around her neck. A security guard, who had been watching passively, rushed to her aid, but was intercepted by another of Sebottendorff’s victims.

“This is no joke. I need to find a man called Zelinski. He has information that I need, and if you wish to survive, you will assist me. Otherwise, I will be forced to let my associates eat you. Do you understand?” Sebottendorff’s eyes were fixed on hers; he could see her desperation and savored it. “Put her down, Fowler.” he commanded, and the creature obeyed. The receptionist coughed, trying to catch her breath. Once she gained her breath, she let out a scream; the security guard’s head rolled back as his bloody body collapsed.

“I believe that the authorities will be here soon enough,” started Sebottendorff, “We will need to secure a perimeter. We’ll need more if we are to hold the lobby. You three go and bite some folks; let them rise. We need numbers more than food right now. Focus on women and children; the authorities are less likely to fire on someone with the visage of innocence.”

Sebottendorff looked at the receptionist’s shining gold name tag. “Rebekah. You will find Zelinski for me, yes?” Rebekah shuddered, fighting her urge to flee. Sebottendorff saw her face sink in obedience and felt his heart lighten. It would be only a matter of time before he would know where his book was.

***

 

A scroll hung on the wall of August’s tiny apartment. An intricate labyrinth had been painted on it centuries ago by a monk from some cloister or other. It was made to contain evil spirits; when an incantation was recited, the spirit would be drawn into the scroll. The spirit would then wander the labyrinth until its release; their wanderings were noted by tiny specks that moved about the labyrinth’s rings. In some way, he found watching the movements soothing.

He was vexed by the mysteries before him. He wondered why the folio seemed to mean so much to Sebottendorff. While it seemed to profile him, there was nothing truly incriminating. A knocking sounded on his apartment door; August grabbed hold of a small, silver dagger that he kept in his apartment in case anything ever came for him at home. Peeping through the hole in the door, he saw that it was the vampire Claude. Bald headed, wearing a woven poncho, and bespectacled with tinted granny glasses, Claude waved casually.

“What do you want?” asked August as he opened the door.

“I think I might have an answer for you.” said Claude. August looked the vampire up and down, and was repelled by his dirty, bare feet and overgrown toe nails. “But I’d ask for you to let me in before I share.” August knew that there was no use in arguing with the vampire, so he invited him in, but didn’t sheathe his dagger.

Claude marveled at the confusion that August called home. A black and white television sat defiantly in the midst of the apartment, tuned to the ten o’clock news. Unwashed dishes and dusty tomes filled the kitchen counter, while an unappetizing stew simmered in a black pot. “Going for the single male modern witch thing, huh?” asked Claude. “Kind of a Season of the Witch meets Martin thing, you know? Very Romero-esque. You know? Like the fiction, but in a real, deconstructed way.”

“I don’t have time to talk about old movies, Claude. I have something to figure out. You said something about knowing an answer, so here we are.” said August, more angrily than he intended. Claude appeared crestfallen.

“It’s something he owns.” said Claude plaintively. “We all go through these fits where we need something we’re connected with. It’s hard when you’re old, you know? You forget things easily, and sometimes they get muddy. Then, you remember something clear as day and you need it. Like earlier, I was talking with Minerva about Roger Corman, then I remembered that he worked on that movie, The Trip. I remembered the whole flick, vivid as this very moment. Then, I really wanted to actually see it. I sent the girls out to find me a copy; Shelia insists I should just put it on my Netflix, but I just can’t wait.”

“But to kill over it?” August asked. “That’s kind of extreme.”

“Nah. Claus is a nasty guy.” said Claude, realizing that he let something slip.

“Claus. So, you know a bit more about him, huh?” asked August.

“I never said I didn’t.”

“So why didn’t you tell Minerva what you know? Just plain and simple?”

“Because I thought she wouldn’t come back if I told her everything.” admitted Claude, feeling ashamed of his selfishness. “Truth is, most of what I know is just legend. He’s sort of a bogey man amongst my kind. They say he can turn anyone into his slave with his bite, even if it is another vampire. He’s a nightmare.”

“And you decided to wait this long to tell us? I’ve spent half the night trying to figure out what was in this folio. I translated the damn thing, then ran a ton of tests just to make sure that there was nothing hidden.”

“And did any of your tests reveal anything?” asked Claude, expectantly.

“Nothing.”

“Well, then how about the fact that it was written by Rudolph von Sebottendorff, Claus’ brother and the principle founder of the Thule Occult Society. I’d have figured you would have recognized the name, given your profession and all.” said Claude, feeling vindictive. “Also, if you hold the pages up to the light, you’ll find even more information.”

Then, in a moment of silence, August noticed the voice on the television. It is a scene of utter destruction. Police have yet to reveal what has happened at Pioneer Medical Center; currently, the SWAT team has entered an intense shoot out with unknown terrorists on the third floor Intensive Care Unit…“Mr. Zelinski.” muttered August as he rushed towards the door.

 

 

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: Old Souls (Part 6)

August studied the folio’s miniscule cursive writing. The pages were yellowed and let off a dusty, musty smell as he rifled through them. The folio contained the reports of an anonymous writer that was trailing a series of bizarre murders across Germany prior to and during the first World War. August had difficulty with the archaic prose that the folio was written in. He quietly typed his translation on his laptop, doing his best to reflect the original author’s intentions.

The bites are abnormal and inconsistent with a typical vampire‘s bite. Rather than leaving fang marks, the vampire’s teeth seem to shear and tear flesh. I would guess that the creature is likely to eat flesh as well as blood. Bodies that did not reanimate were found dried and withered, as though they had decomposed for about five years or so.

Fresh bites have shown signs of swift degeneration of tissue; the infection spreads visibly through the veins. When the body is consumed with the infection, it dies and then reanimates as a cannibalistic ghoul.

August was happy that he had managed to get Mr. Zelinski to the hospital and defeat the infection. He would have hated to see such a kindly man become a monster. August felt that the folio was proof that Sebottendorff was active prior to World War II. The attacks showed similar patterns; the bite and the infection cinched it for him. However, the skeptic the hid inside of him still had questions. How had Sebottendorff find Mr. Zelinski? Where was he hiding now? How old was the vampire? Was this an account of Sebottendorff, or just a coincidence? August kept asking himself these questions as he continued his translation.

***

“I think we’re going to need your help.” announced Minerva suddenly. Her grandfather, Adrian, was a powerful wizard. He used the power of captured souls to fuel magic that would be impossible otherwise. His technique had extended his life far beyond normal human expectancy. Without an illusion, he appeared as a youthful man that was no older than twenty, despite his actual age of nearly two-hundred years. He had been in his laboratory organizing vials of shining vapor when his granddaughter had paid him a visit.

“Yet, I doubt that August wants my help. That is why you are here alone.” observed Adrian, indicating a chair that Minerva could sit in. Like many things that Adrian owned, the chair was strictly utilitarian. It was comfortable enough, unassuming, and practical. None of his possessions indicated the vast wealth he had accumulated. Minerva sat in the chair, crossing her legs and pushing her long, blonde hair from her face.

“Young men in this country seldom like to ask for help from their elders. They want to carve their own way through the wilderness of the world. I guess its like that in most places. Yet, there is much to be said of a man that is willing to become a student.” lectured Adrian. Minerva knew that Adrian was trying to steer the conversation; he wanted to question her decision to abstain from using magic, but he wanted to be polite about it. She found that most conversations with her grandfather were like this one.

“I don’t want you to teach him anything.” said Minerva, trying to deliver the message as politely and firmly as possible. “I was just saying that I think that we may need your help.”

“If you want someone to help you, you should go find Gandalf.” retorted Adrian brusquely. “From what I’ve read, he loves to save weak people from peril.” Adrian ended his statement with an emotionless chuckle.

“Alas, Gandalf is but an idealized fiction. We all need to do with what we have on hand.” said Minerva, unwilling to be cowed by her grandfather. Adrian looked like he was stabbed in the heart, but was trying to shrug off the pain. “I could have gone to grandmother, or even my mother. Instead, I came to you, grandfather.”

“Why me?” asked Adrian, who was all ready conceiving ideas of why.

“To give you one more chance. I know what you’ve done, and I think you need to be given a chance to redeem yourself, even if it is just a little deed.” answered Minerva resolutely. Adrian studied her, and for a brief moment, thought that she must have become the goddess she was named after. She seemed strong and determined; confident, but not to a fault. She was an intelligent warrior, making sure that she had the correct spear in hand before charging into battle.

Adrian indicated a wall of the laboratory that was obscured by shelves lined with thousands of tiny vials. “Each one of these is a life. Each is a life I took. There is not one that I took unfairly, no matter what anyone says. I haven’t done anything wrong, but I will admit that they should be put to use. If I am the last of my line, then I might as well use them all, right?” There was pride and sarcasm in his voice, but he was agreeing to help despite his tone. Minerva felt that she had won a small war, but was still concerned with how August would feel if Adrian’s help was truly needed.

She reassured herself by thinking, If we need Adrian, August will be in a position where he won’t have much choice but to be glad of the help. She had a feeling that powerful magic would be needed; if the moment arose, she knew she would break her vow if she had no other recourse. She continued to convince herself that she did the right thing as she left the laboratory.

***

“Tonight is the night we march.” announced Sebottendorff proudly.

His uniform was ragged, but it still exuded an air of power. The fit was as precise as the day it was given to him. The bright, silver Death’s Head shone brightly from his breast. Around him, six black, shambling, humanoid shapes gathered. They had come so that they could learn about the Nazi party from a vampire that had been a soldier in the Third Reich. They never thought that the meeting could be a trap.

They were all healthy men, in the prime of their lives, yet they couldn’t withstand the vampire’s assault. In less than a minute, they were dying and changing. As their eyes dimmed and their flesh blackened, they felt the hunger for the first time. It consumed their thoughts, surpassing any other thought. Their master would speak, and they would listen. He would tell them where the food was, and they would eat their fill.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: Old Souls (Part Five)

“Himmler told me that I should keep myself secret. He said that if Hitler found out that I was still pushing the research of the Thule Society forward while using the Reich’s funds, I wouldn’t live much longer.” Sebottendorff spoke briskly, each word annunciated clearly and sharply, with little trace of his native accent. “Hitler detested the Society; he had little interest in the great deeds we were undertaking. He only cared for the power we wielded, and once he could use that power himself, he forced us to disband.”

A dozen eager eyes watched him, their attention impaled upon the hook of his story. The men, all young and eager; they were dreamers of violent dreams. However, Sebottendorff was surprised how peaceful they were. Most of them relegated their aspirations to passing fancies, seldom even holding demonstrations. Yet, they were eager to hear about the glory of the Third Reich, and Sebottendorff was willing to tell his mesmerizing tales. They didn’t care that he no longer believed in the Nazi ideals.

“Did you actually think that the Reich could have succeeded?” asked an intelligent looking man with inquisitive brown eyes. Sebottendorff stared coldly at the youth, who began to feel like he was going to die.

“I didn’t care if it succeeded or not. I cared that it filled my belly and my coffers.” snapped Sebottendorff. His joints cracked and popped as he strode swiftly towards the room’s exit, pulling the door closed.

“If you didn’t care about the Reich, why are you speaking with us?” asked the young man, almost consumed by fright.

“Because; when I talk about the past, it gives me perspective on the present. Sometimes, it gives me inspiration for the future. Other times, nostalgia is its own reward. As I talk about the war, the faces of men that served with me come back, even if they had long dissolved into the soil.

“Vampires are immortal, and to know a vampire is to become immortal. Few of us are forgetful, particularly when we’re feeling nostalgic. Even now, I can feel the weight of my MG42 and see the little scrapes along its barrel. I remember a soldier that I shared a machine gun nest with. His name was Herman Klempt, and he was fairly bright. However, he wasn’t bright enough to keep his helmet on at all times.” a sadistic grin was slashed across Sebottendorff’s face as he remembered what happened when some English men finally arrived at the nest to see him feasting on Herman’s remains.

“When did you become a vampire?” asked a frail youngster, likely only sixteen.

“Long ago, before there were calendars.” responded Sebottendorff proudly.

“Is what they say true? Are you actually from Atlantis?” asked the frail youngster. He had a pointed face and teeth that appeared to be too large for his mouth. Nervously, he smiled, seeming proud of his esoteric knowledge. Sebottendorff answered the question with silence, turning his back on the gathering.

“You are actually a real Aryan, aren’t you?” asked the man with brown eyes, whose thin, brown hair would eventually leave his scalp bare. Sebottendorff clasped his hands together, intertwining his fingers. He turned to face the group; his skin was white, his hair blonde, and his eyes icy blue. If there really was a race of Nordic super-men, he would have been among their number.

“Ask me a question that matters.” said Sebottendorff, tiring of the game he was playing.

“What do you mean?” asked the youngster with big teeth. “We asked you to come here and share your experiences with us.”

“What would you rather us ask?” inquired the brown eyed youth.

“Ask about the future.” Sebottendorff replied, his voice sending an arctic chill through the gathering.

***

 

“I disdain those things.” said Claude, pointing accusingly at Minerva’s cell phone. The vampire’s aura was a mix of violent, red wisps and soothing blue whorls. The auras of his lovers were a light, lustful pink, which didn’t worry Minerva as much as the volatile vampire. She knew she wouldn’t stand a chance if the vampire attacked her, yet she didn’t think he would actually do it. At his core, he was still mostly human.

“Then again, I don’t dig a lot of the new scene, you know? A lot of it seems like a way to avoid actually seeing real faces. Shelia had set up the Myspace for me, but it just doesn’t work for me. I don’t like the feeling of separation; somehow, it underscores how alone I am.” Claude’s voice had a tinge of sadness in it.

“I generally don‘t do social networking sites,” said Minerva, wishing she could find an easy way out of the conversation. She continued talking with the vampire, slowly making her way to the door. She found herself wondering if it was still sunny outside.

“Well, I need to get going.” she announced. “My husband will be here to pick me up soon. He, my partner, and I have a lot of ground to cover.”

“Be careful.” warned Claude wanly, “I’d like to see you again.”

“I’ll drop by.” she said as she left Claude alone in his dark home. Once she stepped on the sidewalk, she saw August approaching, followed closely by Tobias. They had all ready parked the car and looked very serious.

“Are you okay?” asked Tobias, rushing in front of August.

“I’m fine.” replied Minerva as she was nearly crushed by Tobias’ embrace.

“I was so worried about you.” said Tobias.

“I’m all right. What’s the matter? Your call was disconcerting; Claude was acting strange, and his aura was agitated. Did you find out something?”

“We’re worried that he’s working with Sebottendorff.” said August, standing with his hands in his pockets. “We’re not sure how it all fits together yet, but I can’t help but wonder if Claude knows more than what he’s letting on. I’m going to go to the office and read through the books and the folio I got from Mr. Zelinski; it might offer something of interest. If that’s what Sebottendorff is after, we might have a visitor sooner than later.”

 

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: Old Souls (Part Four)

“This is too strange. Why did you bring him here?” asked Dr. Kholsa, rubbing her forehead anxiously as she walked along the crowded hallways of St. Andrew‘s. “This necrosis, it has spread too fast. Usually, necrosis is only found after a prolonged exposure to an untreated wound. The wound is far too fresh for the cells to die this quickly. You know, you need to keep this stuff out of a regular hospital, August.”

“I didn’t know what else to do. The necrosis was spreading, and I needed someone that could stop it. Of course, I thought of you.” replied August, trying to keep up.

“I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff. This isn’t the strangest, but it definitely isn’t usual. I’ve quarantined the patient, and I’ve made sure to put the most knowledgeable nurses and staff on watch.”

“By knowledgeable you mean that they know about the supernatural, right?”

“You have it.” replied Dr. Kholsa, her large, round eyes sparkling. “So, what else do you need?”

“I have vampire troubles.” said August bluntly.

“Bureau of Vampire Affairs. That’s a simple enough answer.”

“He’s not registered. Tobias is on the phone with Germany right now, but what we’re thinking is that he was grandfathered in.”

“Shit.” said Dr. Kholsa, shocked. “So then he’s at least two centuries old. That is no good. My uncle Mitesh had a run in with a rakshasi that was half a millennium old; he lost a thumb to her, but it could have been worse.”

“But rakshasas and vampires aren’t necessarily the same, right?” asked August, slightly worried. He knew that Dr. Kholsa’s uncle was one of the greatest demon hunters in Asia, and the story of his lost thumb wasn’t one August had heard before.

“They are same enough, really. Vampires can become flesh eaters, just like a rakshasa can. However, I don’t think you are dealing with one like that. If you were, your friend’s flesh would be missing, not rotting.”

“All right, I think I’ve taken enough of your time. Thanks, Prabha.”

“Don’t worry about it August. Just next time, please call first, okay?” said Dr. Kholsa impishly. She disappeared in a sea of patients, leaving August to navigate his way out of the hospital. He found himself wishing he had paid more attention to where he had been walking. He knew he was making progress when he heard Tobias’ raised voice.

Tobias, who hated hospitals, was vociferously arguing with his cell phone. His angry German shouts had pushed every living soul away from him. August, unaware if the German Tobias was speaking was meant to be angry or not, approached cautiously. Tobias snapped the cell phone shut.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” growled Tobias through gritted teeth. “Nearly confirms the suspicions that Sebottendorff predates any of the vampire acts, both foreign and domestic. He’s been under the radar for a long, long time. The best I can figure is that Zelinski possessed something that could actually reveal Sebottendorff’s real age.”

“That could mean bad news for Sebottendorff. If he’s been avoiding official channels, he’ll probably take the rap for a lot of crimes, several that he might not even committed. Maybe it’s all self-defense?” proposed August as the pair walked to the squat, green station wagon. Both were troubled, puzzling over the mystery that was at hand.

“We’ll only know for sure if we can have a chat with Sebottendorff.” said Tobias, “But I doubt that he’ll meet us for tea.”

“So, the question is, how do we flush him out without raising too much suspicion?” said August. He slid behind the wheel of the car and let his thoughts ramble for a while. “Minerva will be the key, I think. I’d venture a guess that he knows I’m associated with Mr. Zelinski. He’d probably smell the wolf in your blood.”

“Minnie is still with Claude, so perhaps that is fate dealing us some beneficial cards.” said Tobias, secretly wondering if Claude and Sebottendorff could be in cahoots with each other. He was never one for trusting people, particularly not vampires. “I’ll get on the phone with her. Why don’t you turn us towards home?” Tobias suggested, “The closer we are to Minnie, the better I’ll feel.”

***

“Timothy Leary was misconstrued, his message, over simplified. ’Turn on, tune in, drop out’ was what he said, and it works on the same level as Socialism. If people are ideal people, they will take that message and run with it, but people are people. They’ll take short cuts and liberties that the ideal man would never take.” Claude’s eyes were focused, his stare intense. Minerva felt uncomfortable as he proselytized tirelessly on behalf of his lifestyle. A century of experience, half of which was spent devoted to counterculture and social revolution, was gazing tirelessly into her eyes. Her powers as a psychic sensitive made her feel doubly vulnerable; she could feel the pulse of his zealous devotion; its color burning a deep red in his aura.

“You know what I mean, right? Vampires are naturally inclined to turn on, tune in, and drop out. We have easy access to heightened levels of sensation and consciousness, and what’s important has a way of becoming obvious after about fifty years without distractions. Yet, most vampires just drop out of the world completely, never doing anything worthwhile. As a race, we tend to be stagnant.” Minerva tried to keep her thoughts to herself, just in case he could read minds. If she was thinking freely, she would have thought that Claude himself had become stagnant, lost eternally in the 1960’s.

However, she listened patiently, interjecting occasionally with comments that made Claude feel like he was the revolutionary thinker that he believed himself to be. She studied the deep lines of his corpselike face as he smiled cheerfully. She could tell that he was enjoying talking to someone that understood what he was talking about. Evidently, the young women he kept around were fine to look at, but lacked the understanding that the vampire longed for.

“I met Jack Nicholson once, you know.” mentioned Claude, trying to impress Minerva. “It was before he made it big. He and Roger Corman approached me, asking if they could make a movie based on my life. This was back when I lived in California, of course. Could you imagine if I said yes? The movie would have been the most divine piece of cinematic trash.” he smiled, lips closed and seeming ironic. The fire was gone from his aura, and all that was left was a subtle trace of sadness, which disappeared when Minerva’s cell phone rang.

Excusing herself from the conversation, she was updated on what happened by Tobias.

“Be careful, Minnie. We don’t know if it’s safe for you there.” said Tobias.

“Love you too.” replied Minnie, trying to remain calm.

 

 

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: Old Souls (Part Three)

I can’t believe I’ve been mispelling Claus von Sebottendorff’s name with only one “F”. I hadn’t noticed in the last installment, and just spotted the mistake in this installment after I pasted it into the text box. Hopefully, I caught all the missing F’s here. Now, I need to fix it in my laptop’s spell checker…

~H

————————————————————————————-

Sebottendorff was wearing a threadbare woolen vest over a shirt that has once been white and crisp, but now appeared like wrinkled parchment. He propped his feet on the counter, shoving a tower of books to the floor with a thud. Mr. Zelinski cowered in a corner, clenching his wounded neck, trying to stymie the blood flow. A blush of life lent Sebottendorff a rosy complexion that would fade in about twenty minutes. His eyes, cold and glassy, scanned the old man.

“I’m glad I never had to be broken like you, Antoni.” Sebottendorff smiled sinisterly, clenching his gloved hands. “I always believed that the body was a temple. Yet, it seems that old age weakens its walls. Even now, I can see your foundation crumbling. Your poor heart cannot take much more, can it?”

“Get out, you monster!” commanded Antoni, soliciting a laugh from the German.

“A monster is an old man. He wears his sagging skin like a poorly fitted suit, while his ears and nose out grow his face. The false, pearly teeth are a vain pretense. His thin hair was a reminder that all glories can fade.” Sebottendorff stood up, his once well shined boots clattering against the dusty wooden floor. Drawing closer to Antoni, he pulled off his gloves. “The old man is an eternal reminder of mortality. The old man is an ever present vision of what is yet to come.”

“You feed off of people! Your own kind.” responded Antoni, knocking over a pillar of books as he struggled to his feet.

“My own kind? Old age hasn’t given you any more wisdom Antoni. You pathetic Slavs are more beast than man; unable to understand the complexities of the modern world, you lock yourself away in this repository of dusty knowledge.”

“I haven’t got the book! I all ready told you. Please, leave.” Antoni’s voice quivered as he begged. He began to formulate a plan; he wondered if he could manage to tip a book case on top of the German. Then, he wondered if Sebottendorff would brush it aside like a curtain.

“You are still afraid of me, aren’t you Antoni? You remember when I came, and it is one of the clearest memories in that feeble mind of yours.” Sebottendorff’s sensitive hearing warned him that someone was approaching. Swiftly, he warned Antoni, saying “I will be back, and we’ll talk more.” Sebottendorff slowly faded from sight as August and Tobias stormed into the book store. Tobias lunged over a bookcase, grasping for the ephemeral, smiling image of the vampire. Landing on the ground, Tobias sneered. The vampire eluded him and he felt waves of anger crashing over him.

August hurled a power that smelled like a musty basement into the air as he unfurled a long piece of parchment. He began to recite the spell, his chant breaking off when Tobias snarled, saying that the vampire was gone. August produced a crystal from his pocket and glanced through one of its facets, then another.

“He’s gone, but his presence still lurks here. I can see traces of it.” August’s glace passed of Antoni. “Mr. Zelinski! Are you okay?” asked August, happy to see his friend alive. He hadn’t noticed the neck wound at first, but once he saw the severity of it, he knew that they were too late.

“I’m fine, just fine.” assured Antoni, waving away August’s concerns. “It is just a bite. I’ve been saying my prayers. God will protect me.”

Tobias was pacing, smelling the air, and complaining about the stench. “Why did you have to use the dust? It smells so pungent, I can’t get a trail.”

“Don’t worry. I have a few more tricks in my pockets, but first, we need to get Mr. Zelinski to the hospital. If that bite gets infected, there will be trouble.” said August. Tobias acquiesced, taking Antoni in his arms. He carried the old man to the station wagon, and then spotted a rat scampering across the small parking lot. He considered giving chase, but instead took a deep whiff of the air, catching its scent. August arrived soon after, mashing parchment into the pocket of his duster.

“I think I can get a trail; the stink of the powder is still in my nose, but I’m pretty sure I have something I can follow.” said Tobias, helping Mr. Zelinski into the car. He glimpsed the bite, his face twisting in repulsion in response to its appearance. It looked as though necrosis had set in, as it had all ready turned stiff and black. The wound seemed to be spreading slowly through a spider web of blackening veins.

“What’s wrong?” asked August, catching the expression on Tobias’ face. Closing the car door in an attempt to isolate Mr. Zelinski from the conversation, Tobias quietly explained what he had seen. “I caught a glimpse of the wound earlier,” responded August, “It didn’t seem that bad. Looks like its going to progress quickly.”

“You take him to the hospital, I’ll track the rat.” announced Tobias.

“I think we’re getting out of our depth here,” confided August drearily, thinking about the conversation he had with Minerva earlier. “We’re looking at a vampire that appears at least a century old. Minnie told me on the phone that Sebottendorf isn’t only a vampire, but also a magician. Further, I’m really worried because I’ve seen him out in daylight. Granted, he had…”

“Let’s get to the hospital!” interrupted Tobias, “You can pontificate on the drive.” He pulled open the rear passenger side door and gingerly slid into the backseat. “You’ll be okay, Mr. Z. Don’t worry, we’ll get you help.” He tried to comfort the old man, but had a hard time saying the words. Tobias could see the black rot creeping along Antoni Zelinski’s wrinkled neck, striving upwards, likely in hope of reaching his brain. Neither he nor August had seen a vampire’s bite yield such gruesome results.

The car rode along a winding back road, bouncing merrily when it struck a pothole and jarring the passengers inside. August focused on the road, trying to keep his mind from wandering. He needed to know if the physicians would be able to do something for his new friend. August had been confident that he would have plenty of chances to learn from Mr. Zelinski, but with each passing second, the old man hovered closer to death, drawn inexorably towards the eternal slumber, like an obedient dog called to heel.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: Old Souls (Part Two)

August sat at a large desk, his new books stacked neatly on top of a messy stack of notes. In a small, leather bound journal, he continued copying diagrams from the edition of the Necronomicon he had purchased two months earlier. Minerva’s fingers danced on the keyboard of the office’s PC, logging a new series of entries into the database of clients. Rain streaked down the windows, which shuddered as the wind rattled against them.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about my grandfather.” said Minerva. “He could bring a lot to the business. He has a ton of experience and he is a more powerful magician than I could ever have been.”

“I don’t like that he hides behind that illusion.” said August, “It’s disquieting; it makes me wonder what else he’s hiding. Besides, he’s a necromancer. Those guys scare the hell out of me.”

“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. If we were to come across something devastatingly powerful, we’d need some help.” Minerva swiveled her chair about to look at August. “The way things went with the witches at the retirement village just made me think that we could use someone more potent on call. With King Bodon cropping up here and there, I’m confident that we’ll need someone to bail us out sooner than later.”

“You’re being cautious, and I respect that, but I just can’t trust Adrian. He seems so cold and detached; inhuman, almost like a vampire. Cold logic can be a hindrance, as much as raw emotion.” August closed his journal, the Necronomicon still opened to a chapter about vampires. He had been researching an expunging of vampires throughout Europe during the first World War.

“You’ve been talking about vampires a lot lately.” said Minerva, artfully changing the topic. “What’s Claude trying to do now?” she asked with a smile. Claude was the vampire that lived across the street from them in an old bank that had been converted into apartments. He was an active member of the community; a child of the sixties, he was fond of folk music and political activism.

“I’m not entirely sure. I know he’s been pushing for an increase in feeding rations since the city has started thriving, but I don’t know how this will help. Maybe he’s hoping to ask for reparations or something?”

“He’s going to have a tough time of it then.” said Minerva in a serious tone. “There’s been a rash of apparent vampire attacks over the last week or so. The surviving victims have all identified the same attacker; a pale blonde man dressed in shabby grey clothes. Possibly German.” Minerva saw August ‘s face freeze as he recognized the description. He had only glimpsed the man walking towards Mr. Zelinski’s bookstore. “Do you know anything about this?” asked Minerva.

“I think I saw him earlier today. Who have his victims been? Is there any connection?” August was visibly upset, nearly shaking. He couldn’t believe that he didn’t recognize the vampire; if anything happened to Mr. Zelinski, he wouldn’t be able to forgive his neglect.

“I’ll check through the news and see what the word is online.” volunteered Minerva. August was all ready dialing the number for Mr. Zelinski’s store. With each passing ring, August became more anxious. By the fifth ring, his stomach felt like it was full of snakes.

“Zelinski’s books and curiosities, how may I be of service?” the voice was silky smooth and was inherently calming. That was one of the hallmarks of a vampire; soothing their prey with sweet words as they pinned them to the ground. The light German accent confirmed August’s fears.

“May I speak to Mr. Zelinski?” asked August, trying to seem nonchalant.

“I’m afraid he’s not here right now. Is there something I can help you with?” August couldn’t believe the vampire’s audacity. Saying that he’d call back later, August hung up the phone.

“The vampire seems to be attacking spiritualists and occultists. His victims have included a few minor collectors, two weak psychics, and an author.” stated Minerva.

“Get Tobias on the phone; I’m going to need him on this one. I think that the vampire is at Mr. Zelinski’s right now. Tell him to meet me there.” August blew out of the door like a storm, his duster trailing him like a ragged stalker.

***

The smell of incense was heavy in the air. Claude Hooper Bukowski was reclining on satin pillows, his long, lean form sprawled out on a colorful Persian rug. He rubbed his hand across his bald head, then stood up to greet Minerva. The room was dark; the windows covered with canvases that were in turn covered with art that walked the boundary between erotic and pornographic. One of his lovers, a young girl with straight blonde hair, helped him put on a silk kimono.

“Claude, we need to talk.” started Minerva, wanting to evade any of Claude’s chatter.

 

“Salutations. Greetings. Hi. Claude, I need to talk to you. There are a lot of ways to say hello, my sweet child. Some of them are more appropriate than others.” said Claude condescendingly. It was as though he knew that Minerva did not approve of his lifestyle and was going out of his way to make her uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry for my brevity, but there’s an answer I need, and I hope you have it.”

“It would be a truly groovy thing to help you kids out, but where’s Auggie? He’s been doing some groundwork for me, and the sooner the foundation’s in place, the more solid things will be.” replied Claude. “But yeah, if you have a question, just lay it on me.”

“Do you know of any German vampires that have recently arrived in the area?”

“What do I look like? The Teutonic telephone book? I need a bit more to go on than a genetic predilection for sauerkraut.” Claude smiled, confident that he was being witty. The young girl that was attending him reclined on a pillow, smiling and laughing at the attempt at humor.

“Blonde, shabby, and newsworthy. Likes killing people.” said Minerva with all the charm and politeness of an iron club.

“You might be looking for Sebottendorf. He’s fairly new around these parts. If not, he might have some answers if you ask him nicely. Sounds German enough to me, though not all of us keep our given names.”

“I know, Francis.” said Minerva, retreating from the choking scent of sandalwood.

“Minerva!” called Claude, running to catch her by the wrist. She pulled from his grasp and looked into his pleading eyes. “I’m sorry; sometimes I have a hard time being a gracious host and good neighbor. I don’t get many visitors.”

“Yeah, well I have something more important to deal with right now. I need to get this information to August and my husband as soon as I can. I don’t want them going in blind against anything.”

“Well, if it is Sebottendorf they are after, they need to be careful. He’s more than just a potent vampire. His command of magic is unmatched by mortal standards. Combined with a total lack of control and the pot’ll hold a stew of troubles.”

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: Old Souls (Part One)

I was really tempted to name this story arc “Thule Breaker”, but I fought off the urge. It was a valiant battle, and reason won over puns.

~Harry

————————————————————————————-

Nestled among old brick mills, a used book store stood hidden away like a lazy cat. If you didn’t all ready know it was there, you’d never notice it. I had wondered if there was some kind of magic that kept the place hidden, and then I wondered if it was some kind of magic that kept it running. Stacks of books loomed above my head, waiting to tumble at the slightest touch. Feeling like a kid in a china shop, I slid my hands into my coat pockets, just in case.

“August my boy! How have you been?” the elderly shop keeper called out from behind the book his face was buried it. Mr. Zelinski had grown accustomed to my visits ever since I bought a mangled copy of the Necronomicon from him. He had no understanding of what the book was; he had thought it was a misprinted early edition of Lord of the Rings. I don’t know what brought me back again, but I had returned weekly to talk with him. He would tell me about his youth in Poland, painting a sharp contrast between the fear he felt of Baba Yaga and the trepidations he held about the Third Reich.

“I’ve been okay. Business has been good; we’re keeping the office open regularly now, and the police have started bringing Minnie and me in as special advisors on occasion.” I said cheerfully. “Since Minerva’s grandfather bought a bunch of our old equipment, our investigation agency has been thriving.”

“That’s all well and good, but how can you manage to see all those grisly things all the time? I would have nightmares. Dead bodies frighten me. That’s why I never want to be one!” He laughed heartily, his boney frame convulsed while the long bristles of his moustache flared on the breeze of his mirth. He placed a ribbon into the ragged copy of The Decameron he had been perusing and then buttoned the old cable knit cardigan he must have been wearing since he was seventeen. “Winter’s coming.” he observed ominously.

“You can’t stop the seasons.” I responded, feeling that my observation was insipid. Mr. Zelinski still smiled, nodding cheerfully, as though my statement was deeply profound. I sat on a dusty club chair that rested by a window that was in need of washing. I looked at the small pile of books that were stacked on the mahogany table in front of the chair. A dozen volumes of the Polish translation of Tobin’s Spirit Guide, including one from 1890, teetered on top of several almanacs from the last century. Below it all was a yellowed folio which detailed a string of vampire attacks throughout Germany during the first World War.

“My father had kept these hidden back in Poland. I remember the night he brought them home. We were staying in the country with my mother’s parents, and he buried them in the barn.” Mr. Zelinski’s memories transported him back all those years; I could see the nostalgic look on his face. The nostagia soon changed to a lingering terror, one that was still fresh despite the passage of more than seven decades. “I remember the man that came in the night, nearly a week later. He called himself Claus von Sebottendorff. He wore the fine grey uniform that all the Gestapo had to wear when in an occupied country. I was only a boy, but I was still interrogated. ’Does your father have books about vampires? Does he have books about demons? Does he hide them?’

“I remember trying not to cry, even when he pulled at my cheek. ’I will pull your face off if you are lying.’ he threatened. I still lied to him because my mother said it would be okay.” Mr. Zelinski sighed. He was floating back to the present, leaving behind the memories. “Later, my father told me that Claus von Sebottendorff was a member of the Thule Society. He was the translator behind some of the editions of Tobin’s Spirit Guide. Later in life, I wondered if he was just trying to preserve his work.”

“That’s a possibility. But didn’t the Thule Society disband in the twenties? And as a member of the Gestapo, why would he want to get his hands on occult books? Wasn’t the party line against mysticism?” I found myself considering the ridiculous plots of movies that feature Nazis and the Thule Society. I dismissed the ideas about the Lance of Longinus and dedicated my attention to Mr. Zelinski’s answers.

“Well, the other kids said that von Sebottendorf was a vampire. That was why he would only come out at night. It was also a convenient way to explain his blood thirsty nature. When I think about it now, I could see how kids could think that he really was a vampire. He was sickly and pale, with nearly white blonde hair. I couldn’t imagine how the war would have turned out if the Nazis actually had vampires on their side.”

I smirked, pretending to dismiss the idea. The Nazis actually did have a number of vampires in their employ, but they were not field agents. I recalled many of the disturbing stories I heard about what happened in some of the concentration camps, and I never wanted to imagine what the vampires did.

We talked about more pleasant things for a while, then I settled my bill, taking all the books and the folio for eighty dollars. Mr. Zelinski tucked the books into a brown bag, folding it closed and binding the package with cord. “It’s just like the way my father did it.” he said proudly. “I hope you enjoy them. If you need any help with the translations, just come back. I’d be happy to help.”

“I’ll be sure to come by if I have any questions.” I replied. I left, passing an incoming patron dressed in a grey woolen coat that was buttoned up to his chin. A fedora topped his ensemble; the brim was drawn very low. I might have given him a second glace if it wasn’t starting to downpour.