Dracula Lives (32 page)

He was paraphrasing Poe again.
Annabel Lee
. The clever rhyme on the last line sounded memorized, not ad-libbed. Which meant that he’d been aware of losing control long enough to come up with and memorize the line.

Before Quinn could react, Markov went on, shaking his head as if saying no to a voice inside it.

“You are right, Mr. Quinn. I have let myself come under his spell. Somehow I must break it, or the consequences will be dire.”

He pushed a button on his master control and the ambient lighting came on. Combined with the backlighting coming from Dracula’s showcase, it cast Markov’s face half in shadow, half in light, creating the disturbing impression of the war between good and evil seething inside him. He gave no indication that the effect was intentional, merely nodding toward an area a few feet from where they stood. “Look.”

A high-backed chair and small table sat in the corner from which he had emerged. The knife from
Psycho
rested on the table. A pile of wood shavings had accumulated at the foot of the chair. Propped upright in the corner, a wooden stake, nearly ten feet long, had been whittled into a fearsome point.

“He had me preparing that for your impalement.”

Quinn discreetly moved his hand into position in case he needed to snatch the bear spray or the pistol.

“Somewhere in me a last spark of decency still burns,” Markov said. “I have told you of my belief in destiny. I refuse to accept that mine is to be a depraved murderer. I must cast off this Markov/Dracula persona and return to my rightful self—if it is not too late. Even in this windowless room, I can feel the pull of the moon.”

A sudden tremor coursed through him. The time-lapse transformation of Lon Chaney/Lawrence Talbot into the Wolf Man began. Fur sprouted across his hands. He brought them up to his face as if trying to keep the werewolf from getting out.

Watching the beast return, Quinn took a few anxious steps backwards and looked toward the door, wondering if he could escape before the werewolf attacked. He moved his hand close to the pistol, but when he turned back to face Markov, the fur had begun to retreat. Several seconds later it was gone, leaving Markov clearly shaken, but himself again.

“I have tried to warn you,” he said. “I am
not
evil. I have no wish to kill. Like Larry Talbot, I have a conscience. But … the soulless monsters that live within me do not.”

“This all sounds very noble,” Quinn said, doing his best to stay calm, “but reality is a very elusive commodity in your world. And we have come to the moment when reality must trump fantasy.” Markov opened his mouth to protest but Quinn waved it aside. “We are far past the time for noble speeches. You have much more pressing problems than the full moon. Not the least of which is that you have removed the wolfbane in the Garden, which means your Flowers of Evil are starting to rise up, while Johnny—
your daughter
—is locked in the dungeon.”

Markov stepped in front of the display case to face Quinn. From its perch several feet behind, the head of Vlad the Impaler now hovered in space beside Markov’s.

As Vlad Dracula’s unwavering gaze bore into the back of his most loyal subject’s head, Quinn saw Markov’s commanding presence begin to return. In that moment, Quinn knew he was watching the death of any hope for the redemption of George Tilton.

He needed to free Johnny so they could end Markov’s nightmare movie. Fast.

Quinn was trying to think of the best way to get to her when the door to the Chamber burst open.

Max stood there, the sword hanging down by his side.

Markov calmly retrieved the impalement stake from the corner. While his back was turned, and Max’s attention riveted on his father, Quinn eased closer to the door.

Holding the stake in front of him like a spear, Markov began a slow advance toward Max. “The prodigal son returns. I cannot offer you a fatted calf, but”—he brandished the stake—“perhaps something else can be roasted on this spit.”

“
You.
” Max stepped into the Chamber. “On your funeral pyre. The vampire beheaded and burned. The perfect ending for your loathsome
Dracula
sequel.” He assumed a fencing stance.

“Ah. So you are a swordsman now?”

“I have taught it in theater departments all over Boston.”

“Impressive,” Markov said. “But you forget that
I
taught
you
.”

“As usual, you flatter yourself,
George
.” Max made a slash through the air. “You and your piece of wood do not stand a chance.” He took another step forward.

“
No
.” Markov pointed the stake at him. “Not in here. In the corridor. There is more room, and my collection will not be damaged.”

“You would rather damage your family.”

“Ah. Still wallowing in self-pity, I see.”

Quinn was looking for an opening to get away and free Johnny. They’d have to improvise a new plan for disabling Markov.

Or maybe not. If Max was any good with that sword, maybe he’d do it for them.

Max seemed to notice him for the first time. “Who the hell are you?”

“Someone to help put an end to all this.”

“Then you are on my side.”

“We have a common enemy. Your psychic vampire father must be stopped.”

“Enough!”
Markov’s bellow stunned them into silence. “This is
my
picture.
I
will decide how it will end.” He slid a caressing hand along the stake. “We have a new opening for our climactic sequence, Mr. Quinn. It shall now begin with the most gruesome scene in cinema history—while staying true to the story and the dark prince who inspired it.”

He held the stake up to Vlad the Impaler in salute. “Until now people have only been able to imagine the horror of impalement.” He looked back toward his son. “When I finish with this misguided avenger, they will no longer have to imagine. They will see.” He let out a small sigh of pity. “After a lifetime as a coward, at least you will be able to die like a man.”

He pointed the stake at Max. “So. You have been teaching swordplay. Let us step into the corridor and see if the pupil can defeat his master.”

Markov herded them through the door at the point of the stake. “Stay out of the way,” he said to Quinn as he backed Max up the hallway. “Lest you become collateral damage.”

Max assumed a fencing stance and the duel began. Locked in mortal combat, swinging wildly, they didn’t see Quinn ease back into the entryway of the Chamber of Horrors. He stuffed the flamethrower into the canvas bag with the wolfbane, garlic, hammer and stakes, and a spare tank of fuel. He started to grab the other bag with the wristbands and spray but reconsidered. He and Johnny were already wearing wristbands, and he had extra canisters of spray in his pockets. With everything he might be up against, two bags would be too much to carry. They’d have to come back for the second bag if it came to that.

He hefted the other bag and stuck his head into the corridor to see if he could cross the landing to the stairs without being seen.

Their fierce battle had taken Max and Markov farther up the corridor. As Quinn crossed the landing, he saw that the suit of armor was once again holding the halberd he had removed after it tried to decapitate him. Markov must have put it back. Quinn snatched it from the gauntlet-covered fist. It wouldn’t hurt to have a weapon in hand if something came out of nowhere.

The sounds of a fight to the death echoed through the hall as he descended the stairs.

Markov quickly backed his son to the top of the stairs. Max stood perilously close to the edge of the staircase, parrying every thrust of the stake. He sidestepped one and countered with a vicious swipe that missed Markov’s neck by inches. Before Max could regain his balance, Markov thrust the stake again.

Max felt a sting of pain. A spot of red blossomed on his shirt. Growling, he lunged for the kill with the sword outthrust like a bayonet. Markov blocked it with the stake, but the deflection bounced off and slashed his forearm. He threw his head back and let out an inhuman growl. A lightning bolt of fear shot through Max as he backed away.

Markov’s clothing began to come apart at the seams. Coarse hair quickly covered his face and body. His ears grew pointed and his teeth sharpened into daggers.

Max made another desperate thrust, but the werewolf easily sidestepped it and closed a hairy fist around the blade. His roar as it sliced into his palm shook the corridor. He yanked the sword from Max’s hand, flipped it and caught it by the handle.

Max tried to escape down the stairs, but with one leap the werewolf was on him. A half-human paw clamped onto his neck while the other still held the sword. As the Wolf Man dragged his son below, the sword clanked against the stone steps like a death knell.

Quinn sprinted to the dungeon. Markov had locked Johnny in the last of the three large cells, as though he had wanted to keep her as far away as possible. Quinn opened the door with his skeleton key and quickly brought her up to speed.

“Our original plan is off. Max is here—locked in a duel with Markov. We need to get ready in case your father wins. Even if your brother kills him, Markov’s monsters may still run amok.” He pulled the flamethrower from the bag. “You take this. I’ll hold onto the halberd for now.”

“What else have we got?”

He showed her the pistol and bear spray in his waistband. “Plus wolfbane and garlic in the bag. A hammer and stakes. An extra box of silver bullets and a spare tank of fuel. Here.” He pulled a canister of spray from his pocket and gave it to her. “We need to get up there and make sure Markov is dead. If he’s still alive, I’ll start pumping bullets and you torch his ass.”

“Before we can do that, there’s something else we need to deal with.”

“What?”

“Since I’ve been in here, three of the undead have come out of the Garden. They came straight for me—licking their lips.” She paused, clearly still shaken by the encounter. “They tried to pull the door open, but they weren’t strong enough. Finally they gave up and headed up the stairs.”

“Markov’s removed all the wolfbane. The three you saw might be the same three I dealt with in the Garden—or it might be three different ones. Either way the shit is hitting the fan. Eventually all the ones with enough life left in them will rise up. If they make it into the countryside—”

Johnny finished his thought. “They could spread the Dracula Virus.”

Quinn made a single grim nod.

“All the more reason to burn this place down,” Johnny said.

“As soon as we finish with Markov.” She started to leave. Quinn held up a hand. “Wait. There’s something else.”

“What?”

“Lady Elinore somehow got out of her tomb.”

“What?”

“Her tomb was empty when I came through the Garden. I went up the passage to your chamber and she had made it up to the fireplace. She was strong enough to try and stop me. I tied her to the bed, but if Markov wins, he’ll find her and untie her.”

A fierceness came onto Johnny’s face that was almost frightening. “Mommie dearest. If ever any creature needs killing, it’s my stepmother.”

“I’m with you Johnny, but let’s keep our heads together.”

“Don’t worry. My head has never been more together. Now let’s fucking go.”

On the way to the door she picked up her portable master control that had fallen onto the floor and stuffed it into the bag. They exited the dungeon and were almost to the staircase that would take them to the Chamber of Horrors when they heard metal clanking down the stone steps.

“Something’s coming,” Johnny said.

Quinn tugged her arm and led them into a shadowy recess behind the staircase.

Seconds later the Wolf Man loped past. Dragging Max by the neck, sword in his other hand, he quickly disappeared into the gloom.

“He’s either taking him to the dungeon or the Garden,” Johnny said.

“Let’s follow him.”

He started to move but she grabbed his arm. “We have to be extra careful. When he sees that empty cell, he’ll know we’re after him. And his senses are much better than ours. In this feeble light he’ll have the advantage.”

“I have a flashlight, but if we use it, he can see us coming.”

“Not a good idea,” Johnny said. “Leave it off. The lighting will be better in the dungeon and Garden with the wall torches. Wherever he ends up, he’s very good at lying in wait for his prey. And when he strikes, he’s lightning quick.”

“You’ve got the flamethrower. I’ll have the pistol and the halberd. As soon as he makes any kind of move, we send him to Hell.” He looked for any sign that, despite her tough talk, she still might have a problem with killing her father.

“Don’t miss,” she said.

“With six shots, I won’t. And don’t you.”

“I won’t. The minute he hits the ground, we start the fire that will give this movie a happy ending.” Johnny held up a hand as though gesturing at a movie screen. “The House of Markov. Going up in flames. And him with it.”

Still gripping the dazed Max by the neck, the Wolf Man scampered to the last dungeon chamber. His ungrateful son could keep his ungrateful daughter company while he tracked down his ungrateful guest.

Johnny was gone.

Quinn.

They were together now.

The werewolf’s preternatural senses became fully alert. He stood up on his hind legs and scanned the surrounding area: an ambush predator searching for those who would ambush him. His nostrils twitched as he tried to pick up their scent. He pricked his ears and listened for the slightest sound. He detected nothing, but primal survival instinct told him he must finish here quickly and go after the others.

He laid the sword on the ground to get the skeleton key from his pocket, but his forepaw was too big. He ripped the pocket and the key fell out. He snatched it up, opened the door, and angrily flung his son across the large cell. Max bounced once before crashing into the far wall and crumpling to the floor. He struggled to get up, but with a few quick bounds the Wolf Man was on him. The beast clamped both forepaws onto Max’s neck and forced him onto the floor, squeezing until he went limp. Satisfied that this vermin posed no threat, the werewolf released him and went to the fetters attached to the wall.