FORTY-FIVE
Ten seconds after Allen left with the priests, a wooden monster emerged from the smoking doorway of Zabel's home. The golem carried Zabel like a hurt child.
Once they cleared the doorway, Zabel coughed and wiped his sweaty, ash-smudged eyes on a sleeve. "Let me down, Lars. I can walk now."
The golem set him on the ground. Zabel leaned over, put his hands on his knees, gulped clean air. He stood straight and looked back at his home, flames in the windows and doorway. In the distance, the sirens grew louder.
So many of his tools and materials, valuable items he'd collected over a lifetime. All up in smoke. Damn them.
He replayed recent events in his mind. It had happened so fast.
The wolf had burst in and attacked him, would have likely savaged him to death if Lars hadn't pulled it off of him. Then Zabel had unleashed his most deadly spell, but the wolf had darted behind his desk, and the sturdy piece of furniture had absorbed the brunt of the firestorm. A second spell had blasted the beast back out the window, but not before half his office had been aflame. The smoke had overwhelmed him. He would surely have suffocated if Lars hadn't carried him out.
He motioned the golem to follow him, and they ducked down an alley. Lars was not exactly inconspicuous, but Zabel had some quality ingredients stashed in his car. He could put together a few spells, form a plan to make them pay.
One thing was for sure. Sooner or later they'd show up at the Vysehrad cemetery.
A particularly large raven perched atop a rusty weathervane across the street from Zabel's burning home. Everything it heard was heard by its master, Jackson Fay. Everything the raven saw, Fay saw. Everything it tasted, Fay tasted. This included a caterpillar and two especially sour black beetles.
Fay didn't enjoy that.
The raven watched as Zabel emerged from the smoking doorway, then led his wooden behemoth down a back alley. He wondered why Zabel had used wood. Maybe that was all that had been handy. Cheap material. Economical.
When Pascal had not returned from Prague, Fay had strongly suspected he would need to pay Zabel a visit. Probably the man knew something of the stone as well. Whatever Zabel knew, Fay would know soon enough.
Fay watched as Zabel instructed the golem to lie down in the back of an older model Mercedes. He threw a blanket over the golem, then climbed into the driver's seat, started the car, and began to drive.
Fay commanded the raven to follow.
Zabel would be a good test of Fay's strength. Zabel was a decent enough wizard, but Fay felt confident he had the edge in talent and experience.
He'd make damn well sure he had the element of surprise.
Margaret floated through the gray void. She regretted the spell that had put her in this predicament. Her motivations were good-to warn her fellow Society members they might be in harm's way. Fay was a dangerous rogue.
Only one last task kept her tethered to the real world. She had to find Amy. But really, what did she care anymore? The balance of magic. Evil wizards.
Such worries were for the living.
FORTY-SIX
The walls were mint green and chipped. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A twenty-year-old refrigerator rattled its swan song in the corner. Allen looked at the furniture, the chairs, the table; wooden and plain, scratched. A countertop next to the fridge held what appeared to be the first ever coffeemaker to roll off the assembly line.
Commie surplus. That made him chuckle. He put his head down on the table, tried not to see Penny's limp body, tried not to hear the explosion again, glass and bits of brick raining down.
Father Paul had taken him across town, to the basement of a small Catholic church. The rooms below were surprisingly plain and bureaucratic, like the offices for the Department of Motor Vehicles in his hometown. Bland and depressing.
Allen heard somebody come in the room, and he picked his head up.
"She's doing fine," Father Paul said.
Allen sighed relief, sank in his chair. He was suddenly exhausted.
"She can absorb a lot of abuse in wolf form," said the priest. "You saw Zabel cast the spell?"
Allen shook his head. "Just the aftermath. I told you. I was down on the street."
"I know." Father Paul lit a cigarette. "Just double checking some things. Quite a story."
Allen looked around the room. "What is this place?"
Father Paul blew out a long stream of cigarette smoke before answering. "It was built by a secret order of albino monks."
"What?"
The priest laughed. "I'm just fucking with you. KGB. It was the KGB who built it, back during the iron curtain days. The church was a trap to spy on Catholic dissidents. There was a group of priests back then opposing Soviet rule. Anyway, the bishop arranged for us to use the place for a while."
"Am I under arrest?"
Father Paul shook his head. "We're priests, Allen. Not cops. We can't arrest anyone. I mean, we can kill you, but not arrest you. But don't worry, we won't kill you either. We really were trying to rescue you when we busted into the Society safe house."
"That's what Penny said too."
"Do you want some coffee?" asked Father Paul. "I'm going to have some."
"How about a Coke?"
The priest got up and looked in the fridge. "No Coke. Pepsi."
"Okay."
Father Paul poured himself a cup of coffee in a paper cup, brought Allen a can of Pepsi, and sat down again. He puffed the cigarette, waited.
"At first I just wanted to go home," Allen said. "But now..." He shrugged. "I'm not sure how to explain it."
"Try."
Allen thought for a moment, then said, "I don't want to go home not knowing how all this turned out."
Father Paul smiled. "We should make a Jesuit out of you."
Allen smiled too. "No, thanks."
"Your other friend. What's up with her?"
"Amy?"
"One of that Society lot," Father Paul said. "She doesn't much care for my type." Father Paul tapped his white collar with his pinkie finger. "You think we can get her to work with us?"
"I couldn't say," Allen admitted. "Do you need her?"
"The Society and the Vatican are on the same page for this one. Nobody wants to see the philosopher's stone fall into the wrong hands. Nobody's exactly sure what the damn thing can do." A pause for a cigarette puff. "You've told me what you read in the Kelley diary, the caverns beneath St. Vitus and the strange machine the astrologer built. Why do you think the vampire wants the stone?"
Allen felt his eye twitch and looked away. He felt uncomfortable discussing Cassandra. "I don't know."
"She never mentioned anything while you were... together?"
"No."
Father Paul nodded slowly. "Okay." Puff. "You want to see her?"
Allen's eyes widened. See her? Of course not! And yet...
"Penny, I mean," the priest said. "She's up and around now, I think. I know you were worried about her."
Allen sighed and nodded. "Sure."
Father Paul pushed away from the table. "Follow me."
The priests had stashed Amy in a small office. A desk, a chair, a small bathroom. They'd politely given her a bottle of water when she'd asked for a drink. They hadn't treated her like the enemy, but it was clear they meant for her to stay put until they were ready to deal with her.
Where was Allen? Was Penny okay? All she could do was pace the tiny, bland room.
Eventually her bladder forced her into the small bathroom. She peed, washed her hands at the sink. She lingered, massaging the warm soap into her palms, rubbed the knuckles. She looked at herself and was surprised she didn't appear more haggard. She felt like she could sleep for days. The cracked mirror above the sink fogged over, the room becoming suddenly chill. Her arms and legs breaking out in gooseflesh. Her breath came out as fog too. The bathroom was suddenly freezing.
Writing appeared in the fog on the mirror: Are you Amy?
Amy's eyes grew big. Oh, shit. She held her breath, not knowing what to do.
More writing: Hello? Are you there?
"I'm Amy," she said in a small voice. "I'm here."
The apparition came into focus slowly, right in front of Amy-an old woman with hollow eyes, skin tight across her face, making her look nearly skeletal. Her features were pinched and jagged. "Amy?"
"Who are you?"
"It's me, Amy. Margaret."
Amy gasped. "What happened?"
"What year is it?" the ghost asked. "So long. So many years wandering, looking for you. I got lost in there. You can't imagine what it's like."
"What are you talking about?"
"Never mind. It doesn't matter," Margaret's ghost said. "I've found you. I can rest. Fulfill my purpose and rest at long last."
Amy hugged herself, shivering now. "I d-don't understand."
"The Society is smashed," the ghost told her. "Fay has betrayed us. Beware of him. The Council is broken. He murdered me, Amy. I hung on to warn as many as I could. I have to go now. So long since I've felt the sun on my skin. I must fade now into the gray. It's pulling me. Like some kind of cosmic undertow." She began to fade.
"W-wait," Amy called after her. "What d-do I do now? I don't know what to do."
"I'm going now." The ghost's voice was a faint echo. "It's taking me. Beware of Fay. Beware."
The ghost vanished totally. Amy shivered, waited another few seconds but nothing else happened. She stumbled out of the bathroom and into the warmth, sat at the little desk, blowing on her hands.
She began to cry, not even completely sure who she was crying for.
Father Paul led Allen down a short hall to another door. Finnegan leaned against the wall waiting for them.
"I brought her some clothes," Finnegan said. "She's putting them on now."
Father Paul knocked. "You decent?"
"It's okay," Penny called from within.
They opened the door and entered. Penny wore a pair of blue gym shorts and a tourist T-shirt with the Czech flag on the front. Allen noticed Penny's legs, pale but smooth and well-toned. He noticed things like that now.
Penny bent over, tying a pair of white deck shoes. She stood and grunted.
"Are you okay?" Allen asked.
"My ribs are bruised," she said, "but it could have been a lot worse. I'll make it."
Penny handed a large, red bra back to Finnegan. "I appreciate that you think I can fill this thing, but I think I'll skip it."
The sheepish grin made the big priest look like some humble, friendly farmer. "Sorry, lass. I don't have a lot of experience buying such things."
"I think we're all glad to hear that," Father Paul said.
"You scared the hell out of me," Allen said gently. "Glad you're not dead."
A smile flickered across Penny's face. "Me too."
The door opened and Amy entered with a tall black priest behind her. Amy saw Penny and flashed her a big smile. "You're okay!"
"A few bumps," Penny said. "I've had worse."
"Thanks for bringing her, Father Starkes." Father Paul turned to Amy. "The Society and the Vatican have often been adversaries, young lady. But I think this time we need to work together. Perhaps if I could convince-"
"I'll help you," Amy said.
Father Paul blinked. "At the very least, I thought you'd need to check with your Council."
Amy sighed. "No. I don't need to check with them anymore."
Father Paul rubbed his hands together. "Okay, then. Let's go dig up a dead guy."
