Return of the Wolf Man (36 page)

T
om Stevenson withdrew one of the small parts of his life he carried in his pants pocket: a tiny but powerful flashlight he carried attached to his key chain. He shined it into a corner and picked up the telephone.

“Doris,” he whispered, “are you still there?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I’ve been listening to your little drama. Tom, where are you? Trooper Willis keeps calling, asking if I’ve seen or heard from you. And what is all this talk about monsters and electricity?”

“Don’t worry about that now,” Stevenson said. “I need your help.”

“Okay, Tom,” she said. “I’m confused but I’m here and I’m ready.”

Stevenson walked over to the farm equipment in the corner. He lifted the hood of the ancient tractor and shined the light inside. “I want you to go on-line and see what you can find out about the life expectancy of a—hold on, I’ve got to see exactly what it is.” He used a fingernail to scrape rust from a metal case. “Of a Strickfaden battery.”

“A what?”

Stevenson spelled the name for Doris. She repeated it then told him to hold on. While he waited, the attorney began cleaning the old unit. The brittle rubber attachments fell away in crumbling pieces. But the terminals themselves were in remarkably good shape and were easily cleaned with spit and his handkerchief.

Stevenson next set the flashlight on the engine so it shined on the other equipment. Holding the phone to an ear with his right shoulder, he walked over to the cultivator. The attorney easily wrenched a pair of corroded tines from the rotary hoe and went back to the tractor. He used them to cut around the battery, knocking away rust, wires, and more flaking hoses. Then he set the tines on the ground, lifted the battery from the tractor and carried it toward the Monster.

“Tom?” said Doris.

“Yes?” He set the battery down next to the Monster’s neck.

“I’ve got a farmer named Whitey Cole in Mexico who says that he’s still using a truck with the same Strickfaden his father, Blackie, bought back in 1940. He says, and I’m reading now, ‘If you lived in a remote place, like we do, the Strickfadens were great because they recharged as you ran the engine and then held on to the charge because of a nonporous storage cell that kept the juice locked in tight when it wasn’t needed. Those patented cells were why Strickfadens cost so much and didn’t sell enough to stay in production more than three—’ ”

“Thanks,” Stevenson cut her off. “That’s exactly what I needed. Doris, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Thanks. Are you going to tell me what’s happening?”

“I can’t now,” he said. “I’ve got a connection to make.”

“A connection? To where?”

“Later,” Stevenson said as he hung up on his secretary.

Putting the phone back in his pocket, Stevenson went back to the tractor to retrieve the tines. He hurried over to the battery and knelt beside it. He rubbed both ends of each tine in the dirt to clean away rust. When they had a slight polish to them, he held the iron crescents so that an end of one was on the positive terminal of the battery and an end of the other was on the negative terminal. Then he moved the free ends of the tines toward the Monster’s electrodes.

A small blue-white arc of electricity jumped from the terminals to the tines, accompanied by a buzzing whisper. Stevenson’s hands tingled uncomfortably, but he held the tines in place, sat back on his heels, and waited.

TWENTY-NINE

I
n the distance, the wolves howled with one voice.

“The children of the night,” Count Dracula said. “What a sweet requiem they sing.”

The vampire came forward smiling wickedly, confidently. He appeared to glide across the soft earth, his cape unrustled by the motion, his eyes level and unblinking. In his right hand was a smallsword; Talbot recognized it as the weapon Count Dracula had carried in LaMirada.

The vampire was still several yards away from the mill. Talbot crossed the doorway toward the left. He kept his eyes on the smallsword as Dracula turned to follow him. Whether Talbot was in his human or werewolf form, a thrust from Dracula’s blade would be fatal; the sword to kill the man, the silver to slay the werewolf. Though Talbot was more than ready to die, he had not yet finished his work here. The vampire must perish first and Caroline had to be rescued.

Talbot began backing away as Count Dracula stepped into the mill, the smallsword gleaming as it caught the dying light of day. The vampire’s bloody scent swirled around him like smoke. Even as a man, Talbot could smell it. He made sure to look only at the sword and not at the vampire’s eyes. As a man, he would be unable to resist Count Dracula’s mesmeric gaze.

“You do not speak,” said Dracula. “Why is that, Talbot? You are usually so—
loquacious.”

Talbot didn’t respond.

“You are always begging for someone to put an end to your suffering,” Dracula went on, “or cautioning another to stay away from me. Cautioning them in vain, Talbot, for people do not believe in our kind.”

Talbot still didn’t reply. Not yet. To converse with Dracula was like being a fly caught in a spiderweb. The more you struggled the more you became entangled. Before long you were so focused on the web that you forgot about the spider. If you talked to Dracula, it wasn’t long before you forgot about his eyes. And then you were snared. Talbot reached the wall and sidled toward the back of the mill.

“You say nothing, Talbot,” Dracula went on. “You understand why I am here while it is still daylight. Not unlike the peaks of the Carpathian Mountains in my beloved homeland, Mt. Mord causes the sun to set prematurely.”

Talbot reached the far side of the mill where the shadows were thickest and the straw was soft and damp underfoot. Dracula backed him into the corner, away from the shed. Anything he might be able to use as a weapon was back there. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this helpless.

Count Dracula continued to come forward. Even though Talbot did not look at them, his milky-red eyes hung in the dark, beckoning.

“You retreat,” the vampire said. “But where will you go? Until the moon rises, you are just a man.” The vampire’s voice lowered suddenly and he dropped the pretense of civility. “Look at me, Talbot.”

Talbot turned his face away. Though Dracula could easily run at him, that was not the vampire’s way. That was much too human. He wanted to defeat Talbot without brute force.

“I said—look at me.”

Talbot focused on the millstone. He thought back to the worst night of his life, the night he killed Bela Blasko. The rage helped him to concentrate—

“Look at me, Talbot!”

The words echoed through Talbot’s memory and his eyes came up. They stopped on the glinting edge of the sword. Dracula’s will was great, especially after he had just fed. But that alone would not be enough to hypnotize Talbot. Only Count Dracula’s gaze could do that, by drilling into his brain and sapping his ability to resist. With awesome effort, Talbot tore his eyes from the smallsword and looked back at the ground.

“Your will is strong,” the vampire said, “but it is not strong enough.”

The power of suggestion, of command was another of the vampire’s tools. Talbot continued to back away. It wasn’t only a matter of gaining time for himself. As long as the vampire was forced to concentrate on him he might not hear Tom Stevenson. And Stevenson was Caroline’s only hope of salvation.

Dracula’s black eyebrows crept together. With a scowl, he lowered his sword-arm and raised his left arm. His wrist was slightly raised, his hand hanging from it like a spider from a silk thread. His index finger stretched outward and the other fingers dangled below it.

“Come here!” said the vampire, his long fingers curling as he spoke.

Talbot shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, more to fortify his own resolve than to oppose the vampire.

Through the open doors Talbot saw the sun drop still further; night was nearly upon them. Before long he would transform into the Wolf Man and the vampire would find it extremely difficult to control him.

“Why do you resist?” Dracula asked. “You do not wish to remain alive.”

“I won’t add your curse to my own,” Talbot said. The time had come to talk, to try to distract the vampire.

“To be werewolf and vampire,” Dracula said. “What a glorious combination that would be!”

“Wait until the moon rises and I can make you both,” Talbot said.

“No, Talbot.” Dracula’s red lips pulled into a smile. “I am of noble blood. Nights lived in alleys and on rooftops does not befit my kind.” The smile widened, showing two short fangs. “But you could become the most feared creature of all. Sandra’s bite was superficial. I will not be so careless. Look at me, Talbot. Join us here.”

Talbot looked past the vampire. The first star appeared low over the mansion, glittering pale against the clear blue-black sky.

“I will command Dr. Cooke to become your bride,” Dracula said. “You can be with her for eternity.”

Talbot shook his head. “Dr. Cooke is not yet yours. It isn’t possible for you to possess a victim after a single night. I remember your evil ways from Europe. I’ve read Dr. Van Helsing’s accounts of Mina Seward and Lucy Weston—”

“You dare to quote him to me?” Dracula snarled. “A name from the past, now dust in the earth?”

“His mortality made him no less wise.”

“Wise?” Dracula said. “Had he wisdom or imagination he wouldn’t have tried to destroy us. He would have tried to learn from us! Van Helsing was nothing more than a frightened meddler.” Dracula lowered his arm. He walked deeper into the dark mill. “Dr. Cooke is mine just as your companion hiding in the next room will be mine. I can hear his heartbeat racing. I feel the terror in his soul. And you, Talbot—you will agree to be mine or you will die when my sword pierces your heart. For the last time, look into my eyes.”

“I will never join you,” Talbot said, looking down.

The vampire raised his arm again. “Look into my eyes.”

Talbot continued to stare at the ground.

“Look!”

Talbot’s eyes started up as Dracula’s voice echoed luxuriously in his head, like a bell struck just so. Talbot’s large hands folded into fists and he stiffened his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut. Never in his life had he prayed to be overcome by the curse of the werewolf. He did now.

“Look at me, Talbot!”
Dracula commanded.

The vampire’s sonorous tone relaxed the taut muscles of Talbot’s neck, of his shoulders, of his face. His arms felt powerless. Talbot’s eyelids opened and though he fought it for a moment his gaze rose against his will. He saw Count Dracula’s own dark eyes begin to glow satiny red. Beyond them the mill was black, the skies only a deep, deep blue. Talbot’s prayer would not be answered. He wouldn’t transform in time to save himself or Caroline. He had failed.

The red of Dracula’s eyes seemed to expand and a black dot appeared in the center of each. Talbot could not take his eyes off those dots as they expanded and merged and became a three-dimensional black bat flapping toward him. The rhythmic beat of its wings matched the slow pounding of Talbot’s heart. As the bat neared, the red began to turn hypnotically, drawing Talbot into their crimson eddies.

Dracula was crouched just a few steps from the transfixed Talbot. Bent low, all angles and leathery folds, the vampire circled toward his victim’s left side. His footsteps were inaudible, his movements liquid. He pointed the smallsword at Talbot’s chest. A disdainful sneer twisted the vampire’s lips.

“You were a worthy adversary,” the vampire said to his mesmerized foe. “It’s a pity. What power we might have gained had we worked together.”

The vampire drew his arm back as the back wall of the mill exploded and something lumbered through.

THIRTY

A
s soon as Dracula stopped moving, the black bat and the red swirled together and vanished.

Though Talbot was still light-headed he saw the gleam of the smallsword in the vampire’s hand. He moved forward and grabbed the blade with both hands.

Count Dracula hissed and pulled the sword away. Talbot winced as it cut through the flesh and sinew of his fingers and palms. He dropped to one knee and slapped his hands to his chest. He didn’t want Dracula to see the blood. But the vampire did not attack Talbot. He was looking past him, toward the back of the mill. Dracula’s eyes were wide with fury and he hissed again.