They Thirst (63 page)

"Better, I guess. My head keeps ringing."

Palatazin smiled and walked over to the sofa. "Young man, you should be grateful you
have
a head. If that wound were perhaps a fraction of an inch deeper, you might not. Tommy, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tommy what?"

The boy started to speak, but then his eyes seemed to lose their focus. He winced and shook his head. "Tommy . . . Tommy . . . Ch . .."

"Take your time." Palatazin glanced quickly at Jo, then back to the boy. "Do you remember anything of what happened to you last night?"

Tommy closed his eyes. He was trying to look into the funhouse mirrors that stood along the distorted corridor in his mind. There was a girl in one of them, a very pretty girl with long, blond hair. She was reaching out for him and smiling, but suddenly her smile turned hideous, and he could see the glistening fangs slowly protruding from her jaws. That mirror abruptly shattered. There was a fire burning in the next one, but he couldn't bear to look into it. The mirror after that rippled with darkness; there seemed to be figures in it, chasing after him, getting closer and closer. There was someone with a chain, shouting. The mirror cracked with the same loud sound he remembered hearing before he'd slid down a sandy maw into the belly of a toadish, squatting monster. "Can't think," he said. He backed out of that corridor and opened his eyes. "My head hurts too much."

Palatazin reached down and picked up the backpack. "You were wearing this."

"Uhhhh, sure! I know that! From the Scouts. My dad used to take me when we lived in . . . in . . ." The chain of dim memories suddenly collapsed. Tears sprang to his eyes.

"Your father? What happened to your parents?"

"Can't," Tommy said very softly. "Can't."

Palatazin realized they were probably dead, or worse. He could see the pain etched across the boy's face so he put the backpack down on the floor. "It's okay," he said. "You don't have to remember just this minute. My name's Andy. I guess you must be hungry, huh? I think we can find you something from the refrigerator if it hasn't all gone bad by now."

'There are some cans of Vienna sausage in the pantry," Jo said. "And sardines."

"Ugh," Tommy said. "I don't think I can eat anything just right now anyway, thanks. My stomach doesn't feel so good." He looked up and held Palatazin's gaze. "Why do you want to go to Orlon Kronsteen's castle?"

"Because of the vampires," Palatazin said quietly. "I suppose you do know about them?"

"Yeah." Another mirror shattered in Tommy's head. He'd seen vampires in the movies. No, no, that wasn't right. They were here in L.A., and one of them looked like the blond girl in tight denim cutoffs who'd lived across the street. Her name was . . . Sandra . . . Susie . . . something. . . .

"I don't know how many there are now, but I'm sure they number in the thousands. They're trying to take over this city, Tommy. Somehow they brought this sandstorm here and they don't want any of us to get out." His eyes had gotten very dark, reflecting the state of his spirit. "I think their leader is hiding up in the Kronsteen castle. Someone has to find him and kill him before sundown, or . . . what happened last night will happen again, only ten times worse. There are probably other vampires hiding there with him, and they're all going to have to be destroyed."

"You? You're going to do it?"

Palatazin nodded.

"I know all about the castle!" Tommy said excitedly. "Last year
Famous Monsters
—
that's a magazine—did a story about it. Forry Ackerman and Vincent Price toured it on the tenth anniversary of Orlon Kronsteen's murder! They took a psychic up there and everything! She said she could feel his ghost walking around . . ."

"That's fine," Palatazin said, "but. . ."

"They had a lot of pictures of the place," Tommy continued, "and a diagram that showed most of the rooms. A couple of months ago my . . . dad . . ." he frowned suddenly, memories streaked through his brain and vanishing into darkness. He tried to grasp some of them before they were gone. "My dad . . . drove me up there on a . . . on a Sunday afternoon, I think. We couldn't go all the way to the top because there was a . . . chain and a No Trespassing sign across the road. But I . . . remember seeing it through the trees way up in the distance." He blinked suddenly as if startled. "A blue Pacer! My dad drove a blue Pacer!" Images started to come back to him, like bright red explosions in the blackest of all black nights. A stucco house on a long street lined with similar houses. The flaring of a match, illuminating hideously pale faces. A concrete mastodon struggling to free itself from a lake of tar. A grinning, dark-haired boy standing over him. Someone else—another boy, larger than the first one—staggering backward, falling into that clinging, black ooze and screaming. Tommy felt cold sweat on his face. He said, "I think . . . something bad happened to my mom and dad. I think I left them because . . . because . . . there were vampires and . . ." His face suddenly crumpled. Whatever had happened was too terrible for him to think about.

Palatazin put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's over, son."

Tommy looked up at him grimly, his face streaked with tears. "No, it's not. The vampires got my mom and dad. I know they did! You're going after the king vampire, aren't you?"

Palatazin nodded. He knew he'd never seen any harder, more determined eyes than those in the face of this skinny boy.

"He's the one who holds them together," Tommy said. "If you can kill him and the ones around him, the others won't know what to do. They'll be too disorganized to think for themselves. That's what happened in
Midnight Hour,
the one where Orlon Kronsteen played Count DuPre. Professor Van Dorn found him in the abbey ruins and . . ." His voice trailed off. "But that was just a movie, wasn't it?" he said softly. "That wasn't real at all."

"I'm going to have to use your backpack, okay?" Palatazin said after another moment. "To carry the stakes."

Tommy nodded. Palatazin dumped everything out of the pack and started putting the stakes in. "The matches and the spray can," Tommy said. "You can make a torch out of them."

Palatazin thought that over and returned them to the pack. He stuffed six stakes into the largest pocket, and three more in the others. There was barely enough room for the hammer.

"You won't be able to find him so easily," Tommy said. "He'll be hidden, probably down in one of the basements."

Palatazin looked up and frowned.
"One
of the basements?"

"There are two. That place has more than a hundred rooms. It'll be easy to get lost once you've gotten inside. You might not even be able to find your way out again."

Palatazin glanced over at Jo. She looked dazed, and he didn't know how much more of this she could take. Outside the light was a thick, dusky amber. He looked at his watch and saw that the crystal had been cracked and grains of sand clung to the face. He remembered checking it when he'd awakened from two hours of sleep just after sunrise, and now he thought he must've broken it in getting the stakes out of the car. The frozen time was ten-fifty.

"I can help you get in and out," Tommy said. "You won't be able to kill all of them. If the others find you, they'll tear you to pieces."

"No."

"I can
help
you!" Tommy suddenly stood up. His head spun, his vision going in and out of focus, but he forced himself to stand steady. "I know what the castle looks like inside!"

"Lie back down, son," Palatazin said firmly. "You're in no condition to go anywhere." He slipped the backpack over one shoulder, then over his head so it hung down at his side within easy reach. It was time to go now.

"How are you going?" Gayle asked him.

"The fastest route I can," he said. "I'll walk to LaBrea Avenue—that's only a couple of blocks west—and head northward across Hollywood."

"It's a long way up there," Gayle said. "Four or five miles at least."

"Please." He smiled grimly. "No pep talks, okay?" He looked at Jo and knew she was trying very hard to be brave for him. "Well," he shrugged in mock incredulity. "Who would've ever thought this fat, bald, middle-aged cop would turn out to be a vampire hunter, huh?" He put his arms around her and held her close. "I'm going to be all right," he whispered into her ear. "You'll see. I am going to finish it, and then I'll be back for you." He looked at Gayle. "Will you help me wrap that cloth around my mouth and nose?"

When she'd finished, there was just the narrowest of slits left for his eyes. He turned up the collar of his coat and buttoned his shirt all the way. Then he went to the door. He stopped, his hand gripping the knob, and looked back at them.

"I want you all to remember this. If I come to the door in the night, don't let me in, no matter what I say or do. My . . . mother opened the door on that last night in Krajeck, and I don't want any of you doing the same thing. Keep the holy water close at hand. If I'm still on the porch at daylight, then you'll know I'm . . . the same man I was when I left. Is that understood?" He waited for Jo to nod, then he said, "I love you."

"I love
you,"
she answered; her voice cracked.

Palatazin walked out into the wind. Jo stepped to the

window and watched him vanish into the yellow swirl. She put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.

Tommy stood beside her.
He's going to die,
Tommy thought.
Or worse, just like my parents. He's going to get lost in that castle, and then the vampires will have him.

Jo reached out and took his hand. Her touch was very cold.

The sanctuary was tumultuous with noise. From the end of a pew, Wes watched Father Silvera trying to cope with all of them. It seemed he was always bending or kneeling down beside somebody to pray with them, or trying to comfort someone who was weeping inconsolably.
That's got to be one of the toughest gigs there is,
Wes thought. But Silvera seemed to be handling everything okay; only once in a while did Wes see him falter when a quick weary expression swept over his face. Then he was talking with someone else, kneeling down beside them, or simply listening while they poured out their terrors distilled from the night before. Wes saw that it had been rough on everybody. There were children who looked as forlorn as war orphans, their dark eyes confused and terrified. One little girl had curled up in a corner, sucking her thumb and staring straight ahead. Father Silvera and others had gone over several times to talk quietly with her, but she never answered and never moved. A few of the men had brought guns into the sanctuary with them, and it was only with much effort that Silvera persuaded them to give their guns up. The priest had taken the weapons into the back of the church and put them away. Good thing too, Wes thought, because one of those men had snapped about an hour ago and had to be forcibly restrained from running out into the storm by three others. A gray-haired woman with deep wrinkles in her face came over to check on him, babbling in Spanish while she unwrapped the bandages and tenderly pressed at his side. He kept saying
"Si, si,"
even though he didn't understand a word she was saying. When she was finished, she wrapped the bandages back very tightly and left him.

He couldn't keep his mind off Solange for very long. Her last scream had drilled a hole straight through his brain, and it felt as if his life-force were slowly leaking out. Was it possible she was still alive? And more importantly, was it possible she was still . . .
human?
That remark the one called Kobra—that grinning, murderous albino—had made about a castle still puzzled him, though he tried attacking it from all angles. What castle had the vampire meant? Or had it just been a figure of speech? The only place he could think of that could really be referred to as a castle was that monstrosity Orlon Kron-steen had put together up in the hills. He recalled the night—
God, how long ago that seemed!
—
Solange had asked questions over her Ouija board and the spectral reply that he'd first thought was one of Martin Blue's parlor tricks—
They Thirst.
Now he saw the actual meaning of that message, and it chilled his blood. Even then the spirits had been trying to warn them of the hideous force, gathering strength over L.A.

Had Kobra meant the Kronsteen castle? Wes could see how that would be a perfect refuge for the vampires. It was fairly isolated yet at a strategic height that overlooked the entire city in all directions. The place was as huge as an old medieval fortress, and it had been empty since Kronsteen's death about eleven or so years ago. The vampires might even have found it quite homey. That phrase spelled off the Ouija board thudded into his brain. If they
had
contacted Kronsteen that night, then perhaps it was the old man himself trying to let them know that the Undead had made themselves uninvited guests in his desolate old castle. . ..

Yes. It was a place, at least, to begin looking. Solange might still be alive. Maybe they'd bitten her but hadn't . . . killed her yet . . . or whatever they did to make you as they were. She might be alive up there at the Kronsteen castle.

Overhead the church bell tolled intermittently. He could hear the shriek of the wind outside, and every so often the beautiful stained-glass window trembled, as if about to cave in. The eyes of Jesus seemed fixed upon him, urging him to be strong. And suddenly the answer to a frequently asked question seemed very clear indeed—
God is on the side of those who don't give up.