Transylvania's Most Wanted Read online

  And then he died a second time, shot in the back, but much to his surprise and delight, he found he’d been sent to a similar realm, full of war and strife, invading armies and spies and he made a living assassinating people, black mailing others and what not for the next thirty years until he was killed a third time.

  When he awoke for the third time, he found himself in the U.R.R.K, but he longed to be sent back down to the dark realm where war and turmoil were ever present, and he vowed to live just unworthily enough to be returned there. In the meantime he would have to take such kind of work as he could find, and even here, in a supposedly higher realm, he found those who were in want of men such as were willing and capable of doing such things as Mr. Slang was willing and capable of doing.

  Now, stepping off the train that day, Mr. Slang had not come to Transylvania City for vacation, or business, or to visit friends (he had none). Neither had he come to see a witch perform rather ordinary magic, or see a golem perform feats of strength. No, he had come on someone’s errand. Mr. Slang needed to find someone and he needed to find him quickly, so he checked into the Strigoi Hotel, which primarily caters to vampires, and not your upper-class vampire, but the more low order of them. Immediately after checking in Mr. Slang began making inquiries.

  Mr. Slang was about to turn forty years old, or maybe he’d just turned fifty. He was just over six feet tall or maybe several inches under. He had gray hair, or possibly it was brown. He was powerfully built, or perhaps he just carried himself that way. The thing was, when asked, no one could ever be certain what Mr. Slang had looked like, or, if they were absolutely certain, they were mistaken. Probably because they had conducted whatever business they had engaged Mr. Slang for, in a dark alleyway or some other poorly lit spot.

  You would have an advantage over any of Mr. Slang’s clients or victims, if you were told exactly what Mr. Slang looked like, because, certainly, none of them passing him on the street, would have any notion they’d just passed by the man they most wished had no idea of their present whereabouts. Of course Mr. Slang recognized them.

  Now Mr. Slang being very cunning and very talented at what he did, for he had been doing this for several lifetimes now and he enjoyed his work very much, suspected the man he was looking for would be found at the post office. Actually that is misleading. Even when only writing about Mr. Slang, one begins to act disingenuous and sneaky like Mr. Slang. Only the picture and name of the man he wanted to find would be found at the post office. So he immediately headed there and as soon as he came inside, he found what he was looking for. On the wall of the post office was a line of photographs of Transylvania City’s Most Wanted.

  Mr. Slang was encouraged at the sight of the man’s photograph hanging there, because this meant he was just the sort of man he needed. In fact he appeared to be the most qualified man for the job, because his picture was the most prominently displayed. In other words, the man, or rather creature, was Creature Enemy #1.

  Mr. Slang took out a picture he had of the man and compared it to the one on the wall. He also checked the name he’d been told to the one on the poster. The two names did not match, yet were similar. The picture Mr. Slang carried had been taken some years before, while the photograph on the wall had been taken fairly recently. There was not much difference between the two either, the man’s hair was slightly grayer and his clothing more in the fashion worn in Transylvania City.

  Mr. Slang began, that very moment, visiting the lobbies of all the best hotels in Transylvania City looking for this man. After having been to the Hotel Romania, and then The Fountain, he entered the Monte Christo.

  Now, this being the day before Halloween, the city was packed with visitors. The lobbies of all the best hotels in Transylvania are quite extensive and luxurious and the Monte Christo is by no means an exception. Its lobby is decorated with pillars, small alcoves and plush chairs, long, leather couches, and fireplaces and bars and many, many tables where people sit and talk, drink the finest liqueurs and smoke the best cigars and play cards of the highest stakes.

  Mr. Slang meandered his way through this crowd, but had not, as of yet, found the man he was looking for. He headed up the wide staircase to the second floor balcony that over looked the main lobby.

  Now Mr. Slang knowing the man he was looking for was a fugitive from the law did not expect him to make himself easily recognizable. What he had been told was that the man liked to play cards, preferably with wealthy humans, and since this was the week of Halloween, and nowhere is Halloween more celebrated than in Transylvania and Draculia, all the lobbies of all the top hotels were full of wealthy tourists. Now one of the reasons wealthy tourists came to Transylvania City was to play cards with fellow wealthy tourists and of course, against vampires, who are known as very good poker players, especially the part about never letting their face show what kind of hand they are holding.

  Mr. Slang had a dossier on the vampire he was looking for, and it told him the vampire he was looking for very much liked to play cards and very much liked to humiliate humans, preferably snotty, supposedly well-respected humans. Thus Mr. Slang figured his target could not resist being somewhere in the city that day, since right then was a favorable time for him to indulge in his two favorite past times.

  He found him on the second floor of the Monte Christo, in a dark corner, playing cards against four gentlemen. Mr. Slang approached the table, tipped his hat and in his best, fake, British accent, politely asked if he could sit in. After being invited to do so, Mr. Slang sat down and promptly started winning.

  Before an hour had passed all four gentleman had excused themselves and left the table, all of them having lost a considerable sum of money. When the final gentleman left, Mr. Slang addressed the lone remaining person at the table.

  “I’ve been very lucky,” Mr. Slang said gesturing at the stack of money just in front of him.

  “You’ve been cheating,” the vampire across the table from him said matter-of-factly.

  “Very much so.”

  “You admit it?”

  “Quite readily,” Mr. Slang said. “In fact I’m glad you called me on it. I suppose you want to call for a policeman and have me arrested.”

  “I should,” came the reply.

  “Why don’t you?” Mr. Slang asked.

  “Just give me half your winnings instead.”

  “Are you afraid to call for a policeman?”

  “No. I rather have the money.”

  Mr. Slang spoke in Russian then, asking the vampire across the table from him if he was afraid he’d be arrested too.

  “Who are you?”

  Mr. Slang hesitated, or rather, he paused a moment, for dramatic effect, before revealing, “My name is Slang.”

  The vampire, who had seen, heard, and done many disreputable things in his life, was genuinely surprised, as well as concerned, at learning he was sitting across the table from the infamous Mr. Slang. “I’ve heard of you,” he said.

  “Good. Then you know I can deliver what I say I can and I know what you would have me deliver as my part of the deal.”

  “What?”

  “To go home,” Mr. Slang told the vampire sitting across from him. “Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Arrangements are being made at this moment.”

  “It is not something that could be easily arranged.”

  “I dare say I’m the only one who could arrange it.”

  “How fortunate I am you found me.”

  “As well as for me,” Mr. Slang said. “Of course I need something done.”

  “Who do I have to kill?”

  “In due time,” Mr. Slang said. “First, would you rather being called Krakov or do you prefer you old name.”

  “I do prefer Krakov now.”

  Chapter 4

  The White Knight

  Tom walked to work from the Hall of Records. Red would was going to drive Rebecca home before heading to a meeting with Chief Rogers, so Tom said he would walk
to the TCPD building and then Miss Kensington and him would head out to Pendle Hill.

  Crossing Mulberry Street, he noticed a flatbed truck pull into the alley across from the north side of the TCPD building. Some golems, trolls and goblins jumped off and went to work putting together a crane.

  Curious, Tom stopped and asked the foreman what was happening and the man said he didn’t really know, just that he’d been told to erect the crane so that a wrecking ball could be brought to this spot, and do it as fast as possible. He thought the small building on the next corner was to be knocked down. The foreman expressed some puzzlement at why such a large crane was needed to demolish such a small building.

  Tom thanked the foreman for his time and went into the T.C.P.D. building, up the stairs to the inspectors’ offices and found Miss Kensington. Red had telephoned her already and she told Tom she was ready to go, but as they started out the offices, several ladies of the typist pool ran past, headed for the cafeteria. Miss Kensington and Tom followed them there to see what the fuss was. They were gathering by the windows, to look out the windows at the train station.

  It seemed the train bringing the prince and princess and their entourage to Transylvania City was just then crossing over the Black River Bridge, and a large crowd had gone down to the station to catch a glimpse of them.

  Miss Kensington and Tom watched for a minute, before heading down to the garage.

  Pendle Hill is located in a small clearing within a large, dark forest west of Transylvania City. To arrive there, one has to follow a winding, narrow, rough road that passes through a forest of some of the most twisted, knotted trees imaginable. Miss Kensington told Tom these trees were called Knotted trees and Tom thought they looked like something out of a nightmare. Right then the trees were mostly devoid of leaves, but a few hung on still. And even though it was daytime, the cars headlights hardly seemed able to penetrate the blackness and mist of the forest.

  When they came to the clearing, the road ended at a pair of tall, black gates. As well, Pendle Hill is surrounded by an impenetrable hedge ten feet tall.

  No one was tending the gate, but Tom could see some cottages on the other side and some witches walking around in black dresses, so he started to roll down his window to call to them, but Miss Kensington said that was not necessary. She pointed at the gate and Tom looked to see it begin creaking open on its own. He put the car in gear and drove inside the village.

  It wasn’t so much a road they followed, more of a path that weaved among the cottages with thatch roofs and a few trees. Miss Kensington instructed Tom to head to the center of the village as they passed close to stumps covered with odd things – lit candles and small clay jars, black cats at rest, and often, a witch practicing her dark art. As he drove through the village, Tom was witness to sudden smoke apparitions, blue orbs, and even acts of levitation.

  “Where we headed?” he asked.

  “There.” Miss Kensington said pointing ahead, where, built partially inside the hollow of a large Knotted tree, was a cottage. “The Eldest Sister lives there, she is nearly a thousand years old.”

  Hanging from the lowest branches of the tree, were a number of trinkets and wind chimes and above them in the higher branches sat several black vultures. Tom reluctantly parked underneath them.

  Tom and Miss Kensington got out the car and approached the oval-shaped door of the cottage, which creaked open on its own. He followed Miss Kensington inside as the door closed behind them. A fire was roaring in the fireplace and placed on the window sills and shelves were lit candles, but still the room was dimly lit.

  “It’s been a long time Domitilla,” a voice said and as Tom looked toward where it had come from a candle alighted on a table without anyone placing a flame to it. He saw the witch sitting there then.

  Looking at her, you would have never expected her to be nearly a thousand years-old. Not that he knew what a thousand year-old witch should look like, but she was not shrunken by age or bowed over, in fact except for her long, grey hair and a somewhat large nose she looked quite remarkable, as her face was not much wrinkled and her skin still firm.

  “It has sister-witch” Miss Kensington said humbly.

  “Oh please call me Pricilla,” she said. “Inspector Flynn,” Pricilla said turning toward him. “I am honored to meet you.”

  “Thank you,” he said removing his hat. “How do you know who I am?” he asked thinking some witch intuition must be involved.

  “Your picture in the newspaper,” Pricilla explained seeming to realize Tom had expected some more magical cause. “Most recently your wedding announcement. Congratulations.”

  “Oh, yes” Tom said. “Thank you.”

  “Come over and sit by me, both of you.” Miss Kensington and Tom did as she asked and came and sat at the table. “Why have you come to see me today?”

  “It’s probably nothing, but we are looking for a witch named Pandora. Do you know her?” Miss Kensington asked.

  “I know of every witch, yes.”

  “Does she live here in the village?”

  “No,” Pricilla said. “Does this have something to do with the prince and princess that are coming to visit?”

  “Well yes,” Miss Kensington said. “Pandora came from that realm also.”

  “Yes I knew that. For that reason I don’t think Pandora ever felt like she was one of us. She has, for the most part, lived a very solitary life out in the woods, although she comes here to ask some question or another every now and then.”

  “When was the last time she came here?”

  “Just yesterday.”

  Miss Kensington and Tom exchanged glances. “Why did she come here yesterday?”

  “She wanted to go into town. I don’t think she ever has before.”

  “Did she tell you why?”

  “She said she wanted to find a friend or hers.”

  “Did she mention this friend’s name?”

  “No.”

  “Did she say anything about the prince and princess’ visit to Britannia?”

  “Well, I had just read that in the paper that morning, and I remembered she was from there, so I told her the two zeppelins were coming to Britannia and she reacted in such an odd way.”

  “She became angry?”

  “No, not at all,” Pricilla said. “That’s not what I mean. She acted like she’d already heard that news. She said ‘Oh yes, isn’t it wonderful. I’ve been waiting such a long time.’

  “She said she’d been waiting?” Tom asked.

  “Yes.”

  Miss Kensington and Tom exchanged glances again.

  “And as far as you know she has not come back from town yet?”

  “Not that I know of. She’s not in any kind of trouble is she?” Pricilla asked. “If so I would like our lawyer to represent her. Witches have legal rights just like anyone else now days.”

  “She’s not in any trouble,” Tom said. “We were just checking up on her.”

  “She did tell me she was looking forward to seeing how the princess had grown-up these many years.”

  “Did she happen to say where she would be staying in town?”

  “No, but I did tell her she would need to apply for a permit to be in the city.”

  “She walked from here?”

  “She was planning to, but I told her we could call for a cab.”

  “A cab picked her up?”

  “That’s right.”

  “A black cab or a yellow one?” he asked knowing there were two cab companies in the city.

  “We always call for the yellow cab.”

  Tom looked at Miss Kensington then and nodded that they could be on their way, but before he was able to stand up, Pricilla grabbed his hand. Tom glanced at Miss Kensington as Pricilla turned his hand over so the palm was face-up and then she picked up the candle and let a few drops of wax drip into it.

  Then Pricilla studied the shape the wax took. After a moment she looked at Miss Kensington. “Fulgur virga,” she
announced, and Miss Kensington promptly turned toward Tom as if she’d been told he had leprosy or some similar ailment.

  “What does that mean? he asked.

  Miss Kensington looked at Pricilla, but it seemed Pricilla meant for Miss Kensington to explain.

  “It means like lightning rod,” Miss Kensington said, “but not exactly literally.”

  “What then?’

  “It means you have a special gift,” Pricilla said. “Like lightning is drawn to the lightning rod, you are drawn to trouble or rather it is drawn to you. It is a curse, it is a blessing.”

  “I understand the curse part, how’s it a blessing?” he asked.

  “I think you enjoy the danger,” Pricilla told him. “It suits you and I feel a storm coming.”

  “How did I come to have this curse?”

  “It happens. Some people are born losers, some born lucky. Others have no luck at love and some others are lucky at cards. Life is part what we make of it and part what is dealt us. You are a lightning rod. A curse maybe, but also a blessing, since you have been given unique abilities. Every coin has two sides,” she said as a coin suddenly appeared in her hand. She flipped it over and over with her fingers. It was a Roman coin, Tom thought, on one side was Caesar, on the other was a sword.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Pricilla, sister-witch,” Miss Kensington said.

  “You should visit more often. You are not as much of an outcast as you think Domitilla,” Pricilla told her. “You still have friends here.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tom thanked Pricilla for her time also, and then he and Miss Kensington headed for the door that creaked open. They walked to the car, climbed in, and started out the village.

  “You don’t put any faith in her saying I was a lightning rod for trouble do you?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid I do,” Miss Kensington replied. “I would not take her warning of a storm coming lightly either.”

  “Sometimes my mother would get a bad feeling whenever I or one of my brothers was late coming home,” Tom said, “but most times it was nothing.”