Dracula Lives Read online

  Its head broke the surface. The demonic eyes locked onto him. Backpedaling, Quinn pulled a canister of bear spray from his pocket. The eyes burned a hotter red just before the Creature sank out of sight beneath the water.

  Keeping a wary eye on the lagoon, he pulled the phone from his pocket that Johnny had said would get her and only her. He speed-dialed 1.

  Nothing.

  He tried again.

  Dead.

  The water must have ruined it. Or—

  Markov might have caught her and destroyed hers.

  He took off running as fast as he could. He stopped when he came to the hatch that opened into the tunnel connecting the lagoon to the Garden. It wouldn’t take long to finish sawing through the lock, and the tunnel was the quickest way to the staircase that led to Johnny’s apartment.

  He knelt and began sawing where he had left off. A minute later the lock popped loose. He opened the panel enough to ease himself onto a set of makeshift wooden steps, then silently closed it behind him. He descended the few steps until he stood in the middle of the passage.

  No light or sound penetrated the gloom. Quinn pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on. As powerful as the small light was, it only reached about fifteen yards into the darkness. Aiming it first in the direction of the lagoon, then in the direction of the Garden, Quinn saw nothing but the earth walls and ceiling of the passage. A few scattered puddles glistened on the dirt floor. Here and there were pieces of seaweed that must have washed up from the lagoon.

  Soaking wet, eager to get into dry clothes, he had barely started heading toward the Garden when he heard faint sounds. He stopped to listen.

  A dragging sound, followed by a clanking sound. Coming from the direction of the lagoon.

  Shhhht.

  Clank.

  It kept repeating at regular intervals.

  Shhhht.

  Clank.

  Each repetition brought it closer.

  Quinn aimed his flashlight beam in the direction of the sound. Two red pinpoints of light emerged from the gloom and grew steadily larger.

  The demonic eyes of the Creature. It shuffled toward him, dragging the chain it had broken loose from whatever had anchored it.

  Quinn turned and sprinted toward the Garden. Behind him he heard the Creature continuing its relentless advance, but the sounds gradually faded as the distance between them increased.

  Ahead, the light coming from the Garden allowed him to click off his flashlight. As he crossed the threshold, unexpected movement brought him to a sudden halt.

  Three of Markov’s “Flowers of Evil” had risen from their coffins. They had appeared to be aimlessly shuffling about, but at the sound of Quinn’s approach their heads snapped around.

  They began weaving their way through the coffins, apparently with the intention of heading him off. Quinn ran down the nearest of the four aisles that that terminated at Lady Elinore’s tomb. As he approached her coffin, something was very wrong. He needed to keep going to the aisle on the other side that would take him to Johnny’s staircase, but he couldn’t ignore what he was seeing. He slowed to a walk and and proceeded with extreme caution. If the undead managed to get ahead of him he’d have to deal with it.

  He and Johnny had placed the lid back on Elinore’s tomb. Now it was propped against it. The lid was extremely heavy. Who could have taken it off? Those three? Markov as one of his superhuman monsters?

  Lady Elinore?

  No. She could not possibly have gone from her near-dead state to being that strong.

  Quinn thought of the impossible things he’d seen since coming here. This isn’t over, she had said.

  Maybe….

  The three undead were slowly catching up. The one leading the pack ran a tongue across its lips, exposing its fangs.

  Quinn had to keep moving. Find Johnny. But he had to know if Elinore had gotten loose.

  He ran up the steps of the bier to look inside her tomb.

  It was empty.

  He staggered back and quickly looked around. The only thing moving was those three. The leader broke away and headed up the ramp to the bier. The others kept going toward the far side of the Garden, probably to block the entrance to Johnny’s passage—the only other way out.

  The leader stepped onto the bier and shambled relentlessly toward Quinn. It was blocking his path to the ramp. Quinn backed away and looked to see how far it was to the ground.

  Far enough to make a jump risky.

  The undead thing reached out to grab him.

  He jumped.

  Ignoring the pain as he crumpled to the ground in a heap, he scrambled to his feet and sprinted up the next aisle.

  When he reached Johnny’s staircase, the two undead were looking at each other in confusion as they backed away from a large mound that blocked the entrance.

  That wasn’t there before, Quinn thought. What was it that had them afraid?

  Whatever it was, it seemed to be holding them at bay. They were to the right of the mound, so Quinn went to his left. As he got closer to the mound he recognized the look and smell.

  Wolfbane.

  Markov must have removed it from the Garden to set his minions free. Which meant more could be loose.

  The undead eyed him from the other side but came no closer. Quinn stuffed as much of the wolfbane into his pockets as he could and squeezed past the mound onto the stairs. He bolted up the staircase, ready to barrel past anything that got in his way.

  A moment later he was in Johnny’s fireplace. Just as he was about to emerge from that shadowy void into her bedchamber, something clamped onto his ankle. Instantly thinking it was the severed hand, he pulled out a canister of bear spray. But when he looked down, the hand was covered in bandages. And it wasn’t severed.

  “I told you this wasn’t over.”

  Lady Elinore’s voice was much stronger now. And her grip was like a vise. Quinn took several awkward steps into Johnny’s apartment, dragging Lady Elinore with him. She finally released her grip and struggled to her feet, stumbling slightly before she stood facing him. The hatred he’d seen in her eyes when she was in the tomb burned hotter now.

  “How did you get out?” Quinn said.

  “My husband set me free.”

  “After all these years? Why?”

  She motioned to her body wrapped in bandages. “He thought having a mummy for his monster rally would be a nice touch. He has other reasons, which I can’t divulge. He’s the director, and he insists on being the one to reveal how the ending unfolds. I can tell you this: When this picture is wrapped, he plans to do a sequel. Do things better this time.”

  “With the movie or your lives?”

  “They are one and the same.”

  Markov had said the same thing. His brainwashing had been thorough. “Where is he?”

  “Going after Johnny. We both are. She’s been a bad girl. She must be punished.” Her lips parted in the mockery of a smile. Among her rotting teeth Quinn saw two glistening white fangs. The elixir was taking over.

  He had to find Johnny. He looked across the room to her control panel, thinking he might be able to see her on one of the monitors. All were dark.

  Elinore responded to his puzzled look. “Markov turned them off. He doesn’t want you to see what we’re doing. The ones in his apartment are still on. We can see without being seen.”

  “I’ll find her.”

  “You’re probably too late.” She smiled the obscene smile again.

  Quinn needed to find something to restrain her with before he left. Even in her weakened state, she could pose a threat. He grabbed her by the arm and squeezed. “Come with me.”

  She swung her free arm at him. He blocked the feeble attempt and squeezed harder. “You can make this hard or easy. But I don’t care if you’re in league with Satan himself, you’re coming with me.” He squeezed harder. She howled in pain as he dragged her to the kitchenette. Still holding onto her arm, he rummaged through drawers and cabinets. When he ope
ned the knife drawer, she shot her free hand into it and tried to grab a knife. He slammed the drawer on her hand.

  She let out a sound that was half moan, half scream, and looked at her hand as though she thought it might fall off. Rage blazed in her eyes. “You’ll pay for this.”

  He ignored the threat and kept searching. Under the sink he found a clothesline still neatly coiled in its original cardboard holder. He jammed it into his waistband and dragged her to the four-poster bed. He swept her up onto it, then pinned her by sitting on her with his knees on her arms. Her feeble struggle lasted only a moment before she became still. Quinn pulled out his knife and cut the line into four pieces, easily overcoming her resistance as he tied her by the wrists and ankles to the four posts.

  At the foot of the bed he took a last look to make sure she was secure. “Rest in peace,” he said, and headed for the door without waiting for a response.

  On the way to the door he noticed the two canvas bags full of weapons he and Johnny had left there. One was filled with magnetic bracelets and bear spray; the other had a hammer and stakes, wolfbane, garlic, the flamethrower, an extra can of fuel, and the pistol with the silver bullets.

  Wanting to be ready for anything, he grabbed the bags and exited the chamber.

  CHAPTER 56

  As eager as he was to find Johnny and finish Markov, Quinn needed to get out of his wet clothes first. They were sticking to him and impeding his mobility, which could get him killed.

  He sprinted down the corridor in the direction of his chamber. As he neared the corner where this hallway intersected the next, a warning jolt of adrenaline brought him to a sudden stop.

  The Grim Reaper was gone.

  Markov had removed the wolfbane so his undead could escape … freed Elinore to become his mummy … the Creature from the Black Lagoon was alive … the pterodactyl … now this….

  Clearly Markov’s monster rally had begun. And he was in the middle of it.

  Moving warily past the Reaper’s empty pedestal, he eased around the corner just far enough to see if Death was waiting for him.

  The corridor was empty. Quinn moved cautiously to his door several steps away. He hesitated before entering, thinking of all the things that could be waiting on the other side of the door: the Grim Reaper with its scythe; the suit of armor with its halberd; the severed hand. The undead could have come up the secret stairway and be hiding behind the bookcase.

  Anything was possible. Nowhere was safe.

  He had to press on and find Johnny.

  He set the bags down and pulled out his flashlight. He opened the door to his chamber slowly, probing the darkness before entering. When he saw nothing moving and heard no sound, he followed the beam of light a few cautious steps into the room. To his right, on the far side of the chamber, faint moonglow in the oriel was the only other illumination. Everything else was cloaked in darkness. He pulled the bags inside and closed the door. Continually casting his light about, he went to his wardrobe and reluctantly set the flashlight on a shelf to free his hands.

  He grabbed a towel and dried himself off, then quickly changed into a dry version of what he’d been wearing: long-sleeved T-shirt under a pullover, cargo pants, fresh socks and hiking shoes. He transferred the multitool from the wet pants to the security zipper pocket inside the waistband of the dry ones. When he reached the door, he opened the bag with the magnetic bands and bear spray. He fastened three fresh bands around each wrist and ankle, filled his pockets with the bands and spray, and closed the bag. Before exiting, he made one more attempt to reach Johnny on her cell phone, knowing it would probably be futile.

  It was. The line was still completely dead. He put the phone in an empty pocket and took a moment to decide where to begin looking for her.

  They had originally intended to overpower Markov in the Chamber of Horrors. Even though that plan had been shot all to hell, it was the only thing he had to go on. He would start there. He picked up the canvas bags, exited his chamber, and began moving quickly down the long corrridor. A short distance past the entrance to Johnny’s apartment, a disturbing sight made him stop.

  The Grim Reaper lay in a lifeless pile on the floor, its skull smashed to dust. Johnny’s spear gun lay nearby. It had been fired. A little farther down the corridor was the scythe Death used for harvesting souls.

  Johnny must have confronted Markov here.

  A horrible vision of her writhing on his impalement stake inflamed Quinn’s seething anger. He kept it in check by telling himself she might be somewhere safe, that she might have defeated him.

  He pulled a canister of spray from his pocket and shoved it into his waistband, then continued down the hallway, hesitating when he reached the entryway of the Chamber of Horrors. As much as he needed to have the weapons with him, if Markov was in there, and saw him walk in with the bags, the element of surprise—Quinn’s only real advantage—would be gone. Markov might even be lying in wait on the other side of the door, which made it imperative that Quinn have both hands free from the moment he walked in.

  He pulled out the flamethrower and left it within easy reach. He shoved the pistol with the silver bullets into his waistband beside the bear spray and concealed them under his pullover, then placed the bags in the far corner and went to the entrance.

  Flickering shadows cast by the gaslights animated the painted gargoyle leering down into an eerie semblance of life. Dante’s inscription at the entrance to the Inferno flashed in Quinn’s mind: Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

  He tore his attention away from the lurid mural to prepare himself for whatever might await beyond the door. Steeling himself against the possibility that Markov might already have defeated Johnny—and was waiting inside to do the same to him—Quinn entered cautiously, pausing inside the door while his vision adjusted to the movie monsters forever poised on the brink of attack. In Markov’s impossible otherworld, any one of them might start moving … might even come after him.

  He scanned the shadow-filled room for any sign of movement. Nothing seemed to be amiss. For a moment he was struck by Markov’s skill at lighting. In the discreetly hidden and carefully focused illumination, his collection of monsters appeared to be—like Nosferatu—emerging from a sinister world of shadow on an eternal hunt for humans to satisfy their unnatural cravings.

  As he weaved his way through the Chamber, Quinn’s senses remained on full alert, even as he thought of the thousands of hours Markov must have spent in here. His movie world, his forbidden planet, inhabited only by monsters and demons. At the far side of the room, Quinn approached the exhibit that represented the origin of the Dracula mythos, and its continuation in the warped vampiric realm of his spiritual descendant. Set apart from the others in the far corner, the internally lit display case cast a surreal glow. The stark contrast between the lighted showcase and the surrounding darkness made Quinn think of the infamous tenant as a disembodied soul, doomed forever to be poised at the threshold between the dead and the living.

  He reached the exhibit and peered into the gloom to see if Markov was lurking there. He wasn’t. Quinn’s attention was drawn into the showcase of Markov’s most prized relic.

  Even with its eyes closed, the face behind the glass exerted a mesmeric pull. Quinn wondered how much of the irresistible attraction was due to simple fascination with the Dracula story, and how much had to do with Markov’s claim that this was the severed head of Vlad Dracula himself.

  The subdued spotlight brought the faintest trace of color to the deathly pallor, but there was no sign of life. Still, Markov had insisted this was not a sculpture, but the real thing. And that it had been kept some semblance of alive for over five hundred years.

  If Markov’s story were true, Quinn was staring into the face of a ruler whose altered blood continued to flow in the veins of a demented carrier of his vampiric bloodline. A ruler who, besides lopping off countless heads himself, had spilled a sea of blood during a reign of unspeakable cruelty. A reign that had included thous
ands of impalements, the stakes usually driven through the anus or vagina and coming out the mouth.

  He tried to pull himself away to continue his search for Johnny, but as he probed the face for any sign of life, his gaze kept being drawn to the eyes. With his focus narrowed onto the closed eyelids, he wasn’t sure if he’d seen a slight movement lower on the face.

  Had the lips just twitched?

  Perhaps it had been a shadow caused by a flicker from the spotlight bulb. He kept his attention centered on the mouth while widening his field of vision to include the bulb.

  It continued to burn steadily.

  This time there was no mistaking it.

  The lips were moving.

  Another movement behind the eyelids.

  They sprang open.

  Accusatory eyes locked onto Quinn.

  The mouth opened and a long, shuddering groan oozed out. The fierce gaze sharpened into a piercing beam of hate.

  The mouth spoke with a Romanian accent.

  “You … must die.”

  CHAPTER 57

  A rustling noise made Quinn jerk his head around. Markov emerged from the shadowy void beyond the showcase, dressed in his familiar black.

  Oh Christ. Where’s Johnny?

  Markov wasn’t wearing the glove and goggles he used to animate his creations, but his portable master control was attached to his hip.

  Vlad could still be one of his special effects. And whatever else he might have running around loose.

  Quinn pulled out the bear spray. His finger was poised over the trigger button. “Stop right there. Where’s Johnny?”

  “Wait!” Markov held out his hands to show he wasn’t holding a weapon. “I am not here to harm you.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve just barely escaped being killed by a bunch of your monsters, while you were going after Johnny as Vlad the fucking Impaler. Where is she?”

  “Below. I came to my senses at the last second. I locked her away to keep her safe while I came here to pull myself together.”

  “Locked her away?”