Interesting Places (Interesting Times #2) Read online

  Interesting

  Places

  Matthew Storm

  Copyright © 2015 Cranberry Lane Press

  Follow Matthew on Twitter: @mjstorm

  Matthew Storm is also on Facebook. How exciting!

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For Clark Fair and Terri Zopf-Schoessler

  Who are largely responsible for this

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to Michele, for reading yet another of my painfully bad drafts.

  Also thanks to Helen Jane Long, Keren Ann, Yoko Kanno, Origa, Joe Hisaishi, and Nobuo Uematsu, for the music.

  Chapter 1

  Dracula was pissed.

  In hindsight, Oliver Jones would have had to admit that his plan to walk into the vampire lord’s castle and politely ask him to stop terrorizing the neighboring Romanian villages probably hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had. Sally Rain had suggested dropping a fuel-air bomb on him from their airplane as they passed by safely overhead. Tyler Jacobsen, Oliver’s closest friend on the team, thought a high-powered sniper rifle fired from a safe distance would be a better plan. That way they could verify the kill later and make sure the vampire didn’t somehow put himself back together after they’d shredded him. Oliver wasn’t sure that vampires could actually reassemble their bodies at will, but to be fair he didn’t really know all that much about vampires in the first place. His boss, Artemis, had told them that Dracula was a special case, anyway. She’d claimed that many years ago an earlier lineup of their team had reported that he’d turned into a bat and escaped from them in that form, but Oliver thought she might have been joking. It was very difficult to tell with Artemis.

  If the bat story was true, though, it made Dracula unique among vampires, and Oliver wanted to get a look at him up close. It wasn’t every day you got to meet Dracula, after all. He had wondered if it would be bad form if he asked for an autograph.

  “We’re really going to just march right in there?” Sally Rain had asked as they approached the castle’s front doors. She unsnapped the thigh holsters that held her silver pistols in place. “Maybe you want me to shoot him a few times first and soften him up a little?”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Oliver had said. “Why wouldn’t he be reasonable when he sees there are three of us and one of him?”

  “Because he’s freaking Dracula?”

  But Oliver had insisted on trying diplomacy first, figuring if the vampire gave them any trouble, Tyler could wolf out and put an end to him quickly enough. “Wolf out” was the term Oliver used when Tyler transformed into a hulking seven-foot-tall werewolf. He hadn’t come up with a better way to say it, and it wasn’t like he could look it up in the dictionary. The transformation into wolf form made Tyler virtually invincible, as far as Oliver was concerned. It made for a good backup strategy.

  But their brief meeting with Dracula had gone poorly, and Tyler had barely begun “wolfing out” when the vampire picked him up by the throat and threw him fifty feet into one of the castle’s walls. Tyler had been knocked out cold.

  Dracula’s throne room was a simple affair. There was the ornate throne itself, of course, which appeared to have been carved out of a particularly dense wood, stained until it was nearly black, and then crusted with diamonds and rubies. It sat at one end of the room, perched on a stone dais at the top of half a dozen stairs. A long red carpet led down the stairs and all the way to the main doors on the other end of the room where they’d entered.

  Other than the wooden throne and the carpet, the throne room was devoid of any furnishings other than a dozen chandeliers suspended from the stone ceiling, each holding dozens of lit candles. The candles provided more than enough light to see by, but Oliver couldn’t help but wonder whose job it was to climb a ladder every day to replace the old candles and light new ones. It wasn’t a position he’d have wanted to be in.

  He had plenty of time to ponder this, given that Dracula had punched him square in the chest just a moment before, knocking him onto his back several yards away. Oliver wasn’t entirely sure he was ever going to be able to get up again.

  Still lying on his back, he heard the sound of Sally Rain’s twin pistols firing rapidly, and then clicking as the magazines emptied. Oliver managed to look up from his spot on the floor. Dracula appeared entirely unimpressed by the gunfire. Sally’s bullets had torn the vampire’s white tuxedo shirt and dark vest to shreds, of course; Sally hadn’t missed a single shot in all the time Oliver had known her. But the vampire wasn’t bleeding, and if he was in any pain at all, he had a fantastic poker face.

  Frowning, Sally looked at one of her pistols. “Well, shit.”

  Oliver got to his knees, trying to think of what to do next. Dracula was just over six feet tall and had superhuman strength, as he’d already demonstrated. His skin was impossibly pale and Oliver might have described him as entirely colorless, save for his bright red lips. He had black hair down to his shoulders that had not been even slightly mussed by their battle, if what had just happened could really be called a battle. Oliver had a pistol tucked away in an ankle holster, but given that guns had so far proven entirely ineffective against the vampire, he wasn’t sure how much good that was going to do. Oliver wasn’t a particularly good shot, either. He’d been practicing at a firing range since he’d joined the team six months ago, but he still missed his targets as often as he hit them.

  “Good god,” Tyler’s voice came from behind him. Oliver turned his head. Tyler had regained consciousness and crawled to a spot next to him. “I can’t believe how much that hurt.”

  “You okay?”

  “No!” Tyler was bleeding from the nose and still had impressions in the skin of his neck left behind by Dracula’s fingers.

  “Any ideas?”

  “I should be able to change form in a minute or two,” Tyler said. “I have to catch my breath so I can concentrate. Can’t you do your thing?”

  Oliver knew exactly which thing Tyler was referring to. Months ago, Oliver had shown an ability, if that was the right word for it, to manipulate reality. He’d ultimately used the power, under extraordinary circumstances, to annihilate the Kalatari, a race of humanoid lizard people who had been bent on murdering him. But the power hadn’t manifested itself since then. Oliver had tried practicing, concentrating on changing small things around him, but had never achieved any results. He might have been tempted to dismiss the whole episode with the lizards as a crazy dream, except for…

  “Hello?” Tyler snapped him out of it. “You wiped out the Kalatari easy, right? How about one vampire? Blast him!”

  “I can’t!” Oliver protested. “I think the only reason it worked last time is I’d been hit in the head so many times I probably had a concussion.” That had been a very long, and often painful, day.

  Tyler thought that over for a moment, then hauled back and punched Oliver hard in the face. Oliver went tumbling backwards.

  “Ow!” Oliver protested, his head spinning. “What was that for?”

  Tyler pull
ed Oliver up into a sitting position. “Do you have a concussion yet? I can hit you again if you want.”

  “No!”

  Oliver looked back toward Dracula’s throne. The vampire had picked up Sally Rain by the throat and was holding her above his head, leering at her. “You do look delicious,” Dracula said, “but you’re so strong. You’d be wasted as a meal. I have much more…interesting plans for you.”

  Sally kicked him. Oliver had been on the wrong end of Sally’s physicality before. She was the toughest person he’d ever met, but Dracula didn’t even seem to have noticed the impact. He laughed and threw her backwards, where she landed in a heap. She was back on her feet an instant later, holstering one of her pistols at her thigh and then reaching for a spare clip.

  Dracula raised one arm and pointed at her. “Come to me,” he called, his voice suddenly unnaturally resonant. Oliver felt a shudder, and then a warmth filled him as if he’d just swallowed a large shot of tequila. He found himself suddenly wanting to go sit at the vampire’s feet, to touch his cape, just to be in that wonderful presence. He shook his head and the feeling dissipated as quickly as it had come over him. What the hell had that been?

  “Did you feel that?” Tyler asked. “I swear to god, I wanted to go make out with him just now.”

  “It’s some kind of mind control,” Oliver said, pointing at Sally. “Look!”

  Sally’s gun and the spare clip had dropped from her hands. Her whole body was stiff, as if she’d been hit with a bolt of electricity. Eyes wide, she took an odd, halting step toward Dracula, her limbs moving like she was a marionette being manipulated by strings.

  “Aw, hell,” Tyler said. “He’s got some kind of sexy power!”

  Sally took another step forward. “Go for her gun,” Oliver said, drawing his own from the holster strapped to his ankle. “We’ll take him together. If we hit him enough times, maybe we can slow him down long enough to grab her and get the hell out of here.” It wasn’t the best plan Oliver had ever had, but it beat every idea he’d come up with up until now.

  At that moment a small, furry blur shot past him, heading straight at the vampire. “Banzai!” Jeffrey yowled.

  “Oh, no,” Oliver breathed. His cat had arrived.

  Jeffrey had been a stray cat that Oliver had taken to feeding back home in San Francisco. At that time Jeffrey had been entirely ordinary, as far as cats went. He’d been on the receiving end of the first manifestation of Oliver’s reality-altering power. Jeffrey had been gifted, if that were the right word for it, with the power of speech. He was the reason Oliver could never quite forget the things he was capable of. The cat never stopped reminding him about it.

  Jeffrey bounded up the stairs to Dracula’s throne, yowling all the way. He launched himself at the vampire’s chest and latched on with all four feet, hissing ferociously. That was enough to break whatever mental hold Dracula had over Sally, who slowly shook her head as if waking out of sleep.

  Jeffrey slashed at Dracula’s face with his claws, leaving a red streak on the vampire’s pale white skin. “Take that!” he yelled. “And this!” He slashed the vampire again. Dracula roared, either from pain or annoyance. It was the first time Oliver had seen him react to anything they’d done to him.

  “Hey, Oliver!” the cat called, turning his head so he could see better. “I got him!”

  “Great,” Oliver said.

  Jeffrey clawed his way over to Dracula’s back as the vampire tried to shake him off. “What do I do with him?” he asked, before biting into the back of Dracula’s neck.

  Oliver got to his feet. “Hang on?” he suggested.

  But Dracula had had enough of the cat. He finally got his hands on Jeffrey and hurled him at Oliver. Tyler stepped forward and managed to catch the cat just before he crashed into Oliver’s head. “Ow,” said Jeffrey.

  Dracula turned back to Sally and extended his hand once more. She’d managed to reload her pistols and cover most of the distance to him in the time he’d been distracted, but immediately froze up again, her guns clattering to the ground. Oliver felt the vampire’s powerful mind touch his own again. Maybe he should go over and apologize to him? Barging into the great vampire’s castle had been so rude, after all. Maybe Dracula would even show him favor and let him live in the castle? Was that too much to hope for?

  “Ugh,” Tyler said. “I wish he’d stop doing that.”

  Sally was only a step away from the vampire now. He smiled at her. “My dear, you are so beautiful.” He extended his other hand to stroke her red hair, then cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer.

  Sally smiled back at him. “Aw,” she said. “You really think so?”

  Dracula blinked in surprise. “What…what did you say?”

  Sally cocked her head at him. All traces of her being under any kind of control had melted away in an instant. “Moron,” she said. “Did you really think that was going to work on me?” Then in a blur of motion, one of her hands disappeared into her black leather jacket and emerged an instant later holding a long wooden stake. Before Dracula had a chance to react, she slammed it straight into his heart.

  “Ssh,” Sally whispered.

  The vampire staggered backward, both hands clutching the stake in his chest. He made a noise like a choking donkey and collapsed onto his throne. Oliver saw dark red lines appearing on the skin of the vampire’s face and hands. Tendrils of smoke began to rise from them a moment later.

  “Sally!” Oliver yelled. “Get away from him!”

  “Holy crap!” Jeffrey said. “I didn’t see that coming.” He struggled his way out of Tyler’s arms. “Take that, fangy! Yeah! That’s what you get!”

  Dracula’s body heaved once and then began to crumble, bits of him turning to ash and falling to the floor. Sally stood over him, her eyes gleaming. “You should have listened to Oliver,” she said. She prodded what had once been one of the vampire’s legs with her boot and the ash gave way, scattering harmlessly on the stone floor. Dracula was no longer a threat to anything but vacuum cleaners. A minute later all that was left of him were his ruined tuxedo and black cape.

  Oliver and Tyler joined Sally at the throne. “Well, that was something,” Tyler said.

  “Something,” Oliver said.

  Sally glanced over at Oliver. “Next time we have to do something like this, we do it my way, okay? None of this, ‘oh, let’s just go talk to him’ shit.”

  “Fine,” Oliver said.

  “Did you guys see how I was kicking Dracula’s ass?” Jeffrey asked.

  Sally knelt down and scratched the cat behind the ears. It was the first time Oliver could remember her showing him any kind of affection.

  “You know,” she said. “I’m actually starting to like you.”

  Jeffrey purred enthusiastically.

  Chapter 2

  “I still can’t believe he was wearing a cape,” Tyler said.

  The four of them had waited in Dracula’s throne room for long enough to make sure he didn’t have the power to reconstitute himself, but after an hour all that had happened was Jeffrey scattering the vampire’s ashes from one end of the floor to the other. “Doesn’t this look kind of like litter?” he asked after a while, examining a bit of ash stuck to his front paw. “It looks like litter to me.” The group left for the airport before the cat had any further ideas on that subject.

  They were currently 48,000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean on their way back to San Francisco in a private jet owned by Oliver’s new company, The Araneae Group. Oliver tended to think of the vehicle as “the plane,” but that didn’t really do it justice. The plane resembled a smaller version of the Concorde. About half of its cabin was laid out like a comfortable living room with eight lounge chairs and wooden tables. In the rear there was a bathroom and a room with two twin beds, and in the front was a small kitchen area where simple meals could be prepared. Since Oliver had joined Araneae a small litter box had been put in a corner of the plane for Jeffrey, the cat having loudly complained h
e shouldn’t have to “hold it” when everyone else had a nice bathroom they could use whenever they wanted. Oliver had never actually seen the cat use the box, and he had admitted he preferred his box at home. He just didn’t want to be treated like a second-class citizen.

  As far as that went, their plane was much like any other overly-fancy corporate jet, except for the fact that it had retractable missile launchers in its wings and was capable of reaching Mach 3 if necessary. Oliver had never seen the plane in combat and hoped he never had to, but he did find the vehicle fascinating. It was one-of-a-kind, as far as he knew. Like many other things he took for granted now, he wondered where it had come from. Neither Tyler nor Sally knew, and Artemis rarely suffered questions. She’d just ask if he didn’t have anything better to be doing and go back to sipping her tea.

  Sally had put the plane on autopilot and joined them in the cabin. Oliver had once questioned the wisdom of leaving the cockpit unattended during flight, but the computer system that controlled it had been designed by the technical member of their team and was capable of performing most of the functions required for flight by itself, and probably do them better than a human. Sally, the only pilot on the team, had told him that except for takeoffs, landings, and dogfights, she’d just be getting in its way.

  “The cape did surprise me,” Sally said. “Isn’t that from one of your movies? I’ve never seen anyone actually wear one.”

  “Dracula always wears a cape in the movies,” Tyler nodded. “It’s like a tradition. Lives in a castle, dresses like he’s late for a costume party…”

  “He looked like a twit,” Sally said.

  “Is that why his mind power didn’t work on you?” Oliver asked. “You were too busy laughing at him in your head?” He and Tyler had been forced to admit they’d both been a bit mesmerized by the vampire’s mental power when Sally questioned why neither of them had been more useful during the fight.