Lord of the Wings (31 page)

“What if we can get them Niflheim?” I suggested.

“Niflheim?” the chief echoed. “Isn't that part of the Norse underworld?”

“It's also what Ragnar Ragnarsen now calls his farm,” I said. “Mrs. Winkleson's old place,” I added, in case the chief hadn't heard.

“Which I gather he has redecorated to look like something the Addams Family would feel right at home in,” the chief said. “Yes, I can see that these vampire masqueraders would like his décor, but why on earth would he want to open his house to them?”

“He wanted to do something for the festival, and Lydia brushed him off,” I said. “I have a feeling if we ask him to do it, as a favor to the town, he'd do it.” Especially if we could catch him while he was still in a good mood from playing with the Rancid Dreads. “Think of it—we could get three hundred vampires off the streets tomorrow night. And having their ball so far out of town has other advantages. Out there, it would be a lot easier to keep an eye on them—especially since Ragnar is a duly sworn member of the Goblin Patrol. He'll need some help but out there it would be pretty easy to tell if any of the revelers are trying to sneak back into town to perform tomorrow's tasks.”

“You had me at getting over three hundred vampires off the streets,” the chief said. “Do you know where to find Ragnar?”

“As it happens, I do.” I started dialing the number of the goblin who had helped me engineer Ragnar's appearance with the Rancid Dreads. “And since according to my phone it's a few minutes past midnight, now's the perfect time to call him.”

“Midnight?” The chief looked at his watch to confirm the time. “I should call Aida.”

The chief retreated to the other end of the corridor and pulled out his cell phone.

I was in luck. Midnight was not only the witching hour but also, more prosaically, the hour at which the Rancid Dreads were supposed to end their Friday night concert. I could hear the curiously enthusiastic cheers of the crowds in the background as I explained to my goblin what I wanted him to ask Ragnar. I was relieved to hear the cheers dissipating while I was waiting for him to return to the phone. Residents near the town square were not thrilled with how late the concert was supposed to go, and I feared even a single encore would flood the station with complaints.

“Ragnar thinks it's a great idea,” the goblin reported. “Here—let me put him on.”

“Meg, this is vonderful!” In his excitement, Ragnar's accent had grown more pronounced. “I vill begin preparations immediately!”

We discussed logistics for a few more minutes, and then I hung up. The chief had hung up and was striding down the corridor toward me.

“Ragnar's fine with it,” I said. “In fact, he's over the moon at the idea of hosting an important vampire ball. He's going to transport all the vampires out to his place on a couple of his old tour buses, and he's calling a caterer to put on a feast.”

“Excellent,” the chief said. “Let's see if these elders have a way of getting out the word to all their people.”

“What's up with Aida?” I asked.

“She's guarding Mr. Klapcroft,” the chief said. “Waiting to hear from GameMaster.”

“Has Justin completed today's tasks?” I asked.

“Hours ago,” the chief said. “Under close supervision by my deputies. After which, their orders were to get him off the streets before dark and keep him safe until he gets the e-mail with the final day's tasks. Assuming GameMaster hasn't figured out he's cooperating with us.”

“And assuming GameMaster still needs the game to continue to accomplish whatever it is he's trying to accomplish. So where is Justin?” I was hoping the chief hadn't had to lock him up again.

“We didn't want to risk having GameMaster spot him going to and from the jail,” the chief said. “So I deputized Aida's Aunt Niobe and she's helping us keep an eye on him.”

“Doesn't that count as cruel and unusual punishment?” I asked.

“Oh, from what I hear, Niobe started off by giving him ‘Hail, Columbia' for scaring the first graders, but now she's forgiven him and decided he needs fattening up.”

Just for a moment, I felt acutely jealous of Justin, since Niobe Butler was accounted one of the best cooks in Caerphilly County. From the look on the chief's face, I suspected he felt the same way.

“Well, time's a-wasting,” he said after a few moments. “Let's go in and give the Clan Raven elders the good news.”

The elders were initially a little suspicious of the offer of a free party space.

“But why is this Ragnarsen person doing this?” Celia demanded. “Does he have some kind of ulterior motive?”

“Ms. Langslow can be very persuasive,” the chief said.

“And why should any of you care?” Celia persisted.

“Because if you're out at Ragnar's house, you're his problem,” I said finally. “Instead of our problem. And I'm not trying to imply that any of you LARPers are problems, but we're going to have even more tourists out there tomorrow night than there are tonight, so any large group we can get off the street makes the crowd control that much easier.”

Learning precisely what our ulterior motive was seemed to reassure them a little. But they were still frowning in indecision when we heard a commotion out at the front desk.

“I want to meet my vampires!” Ragnar could be heard bellowing. “Where are they?”

He burst into the room a few moments later, with Superman trailing behind him. Upon viewing the vampires, who had drawn together in a clump and were gazing at him nervously, he beamed with delight.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms out with such force that he knocked a framed picture of the Caerphilly Police Bowling Team off the wall. “This is going to be so awesome!”

Inexplicably, this seemed to reassure the elders.

“You're Ragnar?” Celia asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But there cannot be just three of you. We need more. There are more of you, yes? Lots more?”

“Three hundred and seventeen of them,” I said.

“Three hundred and sixteen,” Celia said. “We're expelling Norton.”

“Awesome,” Ragnar said. “Come with me. You need to see Niflheim so you can tell me what you want me to do to get it ready.”

The three elders left, with Ragnar shooing them along like a mother duck making sure all her ducklings made it to the water. Randall, the chief, and I followed them to the door and watched as they climbed into Ragnar's enormous black Lexus SUV. As Ragnar started his engine his stereo came alive and we both heard and felt the throbbing bass.

“Why does this remind me of the first time I put the boys on the school bus?” I muttered.

“They'll be fine,” Randall said. “Ragnar's good people. Just a little eccentric.”

Just then Horace arrived, and I went back into the police station so he could photograph my wound. While he was doing it, Aida arrived.

“Got the e-mail from GameMaster,” she said, handing the chief Justin's phone. “Same list we got from Rasmussen earlier today.”

“That's a relief.” The chief nodded as he studied the phone's screen. “We've already had everyone watching for these pranks. Maybe the three lists we've got are all there is.”

“So I gather the theory is still that the murders are somehow tied to the scavenger hunt?” I asked.

“That's
a
theory.” The chief grimaced slightly. “The only coherent one we have so far. You may not have heard, but both victims were shot with the same .22-caliber gun, according to Horace's analysis of the bullets. We've sent them down to Richmond so the state crime lab can confirm this, but I have every confidence in Horace.”

I nodded.

“Mr. Smith, our second victim, was definitely playing the scavenger hunt. So far we have no evidence that Mr. Green was, under any of his aliases—we've found nine of them so far. But he has a history of using the Internet to perpetrate a variety of scams, and whoever invented the scavenger hunt recruited players online.”

“Yeah, that's suspicious,” I said.

“Of course, it would make a little more sense if we could figure out how Mr. Green was planning to profit from the game,” the chief said. “Mr. Green's previous criminal history suggests that he was nothing if not mercenary.”

“I'm sure we—er, you will figure it out eventually.”

The chief nodded, looking distracted, and I realized that he wasn't feeling quite as confident. I left him to his thoughts and went out into the waiting room to call Dad. He reported that Dr. Sengupta had arrived to do Michael's cast, and that he'd probably be ready to go home by the time I got there. So I collected my car and headed for the hospital.

As I passed by the town square, I peered down the blockaded streets to see what was happening. It wasn't exactly quiet, but the crowds had diminished considerably. Most of the people left were sitting or standing quietly in groups. I could see a lot of the
Vampire Colonies
LARPers milling about doing whatever LARPers do when they're gathered together. They weren't stealing pumpkins, eating insects, or menacing one another with fake body parts, so I told myself not to worry about them.

At the hospital, of course, I discovered that Dad had been overly optimistic about how soon Michael could leave. His cast was on, but we still had over an hour of paperwork and discharge procedures to get through. It was nearly 2:00
A.M.
before we pulled out of the parking lot.

“Let's circle the town square and see how things are going there,” Michael said.

“It's barricaded, remember?” I said. “And I took a look on my way over here. Pretty quiet. Only a few hundred tourists there.”

“Only a few hundred,” Michael said. “Normally we'd consider a few hundred tourists an invasion. But if there are still hundreds there at this hour, it makes me feel better about something I agreed for us to do tomorrow.”

“Dare I hope it's something that would require leaving town for a while?” I asked. “Because right now that sounds pretty attractive.”

“Tomorrow's the day the town is holding the usual big Halloween party for all the kids, to help them while away the hours before they can trick or treat,” he said.

“The boys are looking forward to it,” I said. “And Rob sent over some of his techies to help them create fabulous costumes, which would worry me a little if your mother weren't there to provide adult supervision.”

“That's great,” he said. “You do remember that we usually hold the kids' party on the town square.”

“Oh, God, no!” I braked rather abruptly—good thing no one else was on the road. “We can't possibly have it there. The place will be full of LARPers and Rancid Dread fans and possibly players in this lethal scavenger hunt and—”

“Relax,” he said. “The party has been relocated.”

“That's a relief.”

“To our yard. But don't worry,” he hurried to add. “There are a couple of dozen parents on the party committee. They'll come over tomorrow to get everything ready. And your mother's going to supervise. They could have moved it to the school, of course, but even that's too close to all the festival craziness. And—are you okay with this? You seem to be taking it very calmly.”

“I'm fine with it,” I said. “I think it's very sensible to relocate the PG-rated activities away from the center of town this weekend, and as long as the party committee includes a cleanup subcommittee, I'm fine with the idea.”

“Your mother will make sure there's a cleanup subcommittee,” he said. “I gather she's pretty relieved to have an excuse to avoid working in the food tent tomorrow afternoon, and I hear the churches have decided to push box lunches all afternoon so they can close down the food tents before dark tomorrow night. Correction, tonight.”

“Another sensible idea,” I said. “And you know what else we should do? We should relocate tonight's Rancid Dread concert out to one of those fields near the Haunted House. Randall could have his workmen build a stage out there. They probably won't start playing until eight or nine o'clock, but the tourists who want to see them will start gathering out there earlier, which should clear out the town quite a bit and make it family friendlier for the trick-or-treating—to say nothing of keeping the decibel level down for everyone who lives in town.”

“It'll mean a lot more tourists milling around near the Haunted House,” Michael said. “Couldn't that be a problem?”

“Most of the problems at the Haunted House have happened after the crowds left,” I pointed out. “And we can have someone stationed there. A deputy or two. Or maybe a few Goblin Patrol members.”

“If I were a tourist, the Rancid Dreads would send me running back to town,” Michael said. “But I'm probably only showing my age.”

“I'd say your intelligence,” I countered. “And I feel the same way.”

The house was dark and quiet when we got in. Everyone had gone to bed except for Michael's mother, who had fallen asleep on the living room sofa while waiting for us. We woke her, and she and I helped Michael upstairs and got him settled.

“I'm off to bed,” she said. “Got to get up early to deal with this party.”

To my relief, she sounded eager rather than annoyed.

I pulled out my phone and tapped out a quick e-mail to Randall, outlining the bare bones of my idea about relocating the Dreads. I sent it, then put the phone back in my pocket and picked up my electric toothbrush. Thank goodness for small labor-saving devices that worked even when I was almost too tired to hold them.

Before I was halfway through with brushing, my pocket buzzed. I turned off the toothbrush and pulled out my phone.

“Good idea!” Randall had texted me. “Will get it going as soon as it's light.”