Scanned by an unsung hero.

Proofed by Highroller.

Vampirella #5

DEATHGAME

by

Ron Goulart

Chapter 1

The beautiful, nearly naked girl came striding down across the sun-bright beach. A beautiful, nearly naked girl is not an unusual sight on the Azure Coast of the Riviera; indeed, this midweek afternoon there were several dozen of them gracing Macaco’s cliff-bordered beach. Deeply tanned redheads, oiled and glistening blondes—and yet…

And yet there was something about this slender, high-breasted girl in the scarlet bikini. She was dark-haired, long-legged and evenly tan. She seemed to radiate something, something that made her compelling and at the same time somewhat frightening.

Men, lean well-built ones and pink flabby ones, watched her. Watched her walk sinuously toward a huge candy-stripe beach umbrella. There were murmurs, Macaco being the international resort area it is, of “merveilleux.” “skjønn.” “molta bella.” “espantosa.” “krasívi.” Some eyed her slyly, others stared, but they all watched Vampirella.

“Ah, child, I sensed your approach.” Pendragon was sprawled on his side on a candy-stripe blanket, wearing a silky candy-stripe robe over his pale leathery body. A sharp-featured man, gray-haired, a shade over sixty. An open Thermos, wrapped in a folded newspaper, sat in the sand near his right hand. “I could hear the necks craning while you were still a hundred yards off.”

The raven-haired girl unfurled the beach blanket she’d carried under her arm. Her right breast nearly escaped the scant halter as she bent, the scarlet bikini stretching across her rounded buttocks made a faint thumming sound. “How’s the water?”

The magician wrinkled his sharp nose. “Water?” He sat up, clutching his Thermos to his narrow chest. “Ah, yes, I see, you’re alluding to that blue, salty stuff yonder. For a moment I thought you were accusing me of drinking water.” He took a sip of the Thermos’s contents.

Vampirella lowered her smooth, supple body to the blanket. “No, I knew you hadn’t quit the sauce,” she said. “The sun would have stopped still in the sky for a miracle like that.”

Pendragon drank down some more Scotch. “Dear girl, you must cultivate the art of relaxation. Some achieve a state of tranquillity after much prayer and meditation. Myself, I find booze is more effective.” He turned, gesturing at the building-festooned cliffs that rose above the warm afternoon beach. “Here we are in the tax-free principality of Macaco, wallowing in the fin-de-siècle luxury of a topnotch hotel, awaiting our opening this Friday at the Cabaret Chinois. Therefore we—”

“Did you talk to LeBeck?”

“Whom?”

“LeBeck, the manager of the Cabaret Chinois,” said Vampirella. “If you want to use your floating lady illusion, they’ll have to set up for it.”

The magician gave a dismissing wave of the hand. “I once performed the trick in an Elks hall in Yonkers, New York, with a lass weighing two hundred and fifty pounds and only fifteen minutes of advance preparation. Though, now I think of it, the lady in question plummeted into the orchestra and felled the entire rhythm section with the exception of— What is it, child?”

Vampirella unfolded the English-language paper that was shielding his Thermos of Scotch. “I hadn’t seen this story in yesterday’s paper.”

“Not another piece of gush about the upcoming Macaco Film Festival?”

A frown touched the girl’s forehead. “A murder, two days ago in the village of St. Arrière,” she said, a long slender finger tapping a column. “That’s only a few miles inland from here.”

“Surely we haven’t come to this paradisaical atmosphere to go poking into a murder? We can get all that at home in America, the murder capital of the world.”

“They’re calling this one another killing by a ‘human beast,’” said Vampirella. “The fifth such this year.”

“Spare me the stomach-churning details.” The magician drew his striped robe tighter around him.

“Victims all women, throats all torn out.” Vampirella let the paper drop to the sand. “A familiar pattern, though the reporter hasn’t come right out and stated it.”

“I wonder if I could coax certain especially loathsome female relatives of mine to come over and stroll about St. Arrière of an evening.” Pendragon poked at the newspaper with his big toe.

“The killings have taken place in various towns and villages in the vicinity of Macaco,” said Vampirella. “They usually occur during or close to the period of the full moon.”

“Ah, what a cruel fate it is that dogs my footsteps,” complained the magician. “Here I arrange a booking for the Great Pendragon and Company in one of the plushest spots on earth and what happens? There’s a werewolf loose in the neighborhood. That is what you’re hinting at, is it not?”

Vampirella nodded, her long dark hair sweeping at her smooth shoulders. “It might be a werewolf, yes.”

“Let us leave it a question, one of those little puzzles of life that remains unsolved,” suggested Pendragon. “We’re in Macaco to put on a magic show, not play occult detective.”

After almost a minute, Vampirella stretched her arms above her head. Her breasts rose, fell, and slapped gently together. While the nearest male spectators were recovering from that, she eased to her feet. “You’re right, Pendragon,” she said. “We’ll leave the detective work to someone else. We’ll forget all about this so-called human beast—unless we find ourselves directly involved with him somehow.”

Pendragon arched an eyebrow. “Wait now, pet,” he said. “Your statement has a rather ominous sound. Do you have one of your premonitions, an extrasensory hunch that—”

Her laughter interrupted him. Then she was running toward the bright water.

The Botanical Gardens are justly famous throughout Europe as a place well worth visiting while in Macaco.

But not after dark.

Covering five acres atop a steep cliff, facing the tranquil sea, the gardens are a complex of ornate, late nineteenth-century greenhouses and outdoor formal gardens. Located among the flower beds, ferns, palm trees, and stands of pines are a dozen or more marble statues. The original of Bonfigli’s Pensive David is here, as is Busino’s famed Prometheus Unbound. All of these attractions are well worth seeing.

But not after dark.

As day ends and the last light drains from the sky a mist comes drifting across the Botanical Gardens. It swirls, dense and fuzzy, through the oaks and pines, sweeps across the vast beds of blossoms, twists around the giant marble figures.

Cissy Hayle got there long after moonrise, when the fog was thick everywhere. She hadn’t particularly wanted to come to this particular place. But the grinning publicity man from Zull Films had explained that he’d had to bring his wife along with him on this jaunt to the impending Macaco Film Festival. So they’d meet in the gardens and, if everything was clear, he’d take her to a restaurant he knew about in St. Arrière.

Cissy wanted, very much, to be a part of the festival activities. She was a pretty blonde girl of twenty-two, on her first vacation in Europe. Meeting the publicity man on the beach had been a very lucky break. His name was Dave… something… Dave Hartman, something about like that. Well, it didn’t matter, really, what his name was, she’d get it right eventually. The important thing was he’d be able to get her into all sorts of parties, screenings, things like that. Places where she could meet stars like Bam Murty and Zona Beyer and producers like Seymour Zull. He couldn’t escort her, obviously, with his wife watching him so carefully. But Cissy would make sure he arranged for her to go where she wanted, see what she wanted to see, meet the kind of people she wanted to meet.

The excitement of being here in Macaco, the anticipation of the film festival made the girl suddenly laugh aloud as she paced the white gravel path in front of a large glass and wrought-iron greenhouse. Looming there in the thick fog it looked like the skeleton of some Victorian mansion. The hundreds of glass squares seemed black. Cissy couldn’t see what sort of plants and flowers were inside.

“Probably just a lot of unpleasant cactus, like they have all over the patio of the hotel,” she said to herself, walking nearer to the building.

The mist closed in tighter around her. She found she couldn’t see more than three feet or so in any direction. The night was intensely quiet.

“Oh!”

She’d bumped into the base of a statue. A marble Venus. Cissy decided to stay here, leaning against the stone base with her hands folded in front of her.

Would Dave be able to find her at all? That was his name, wasn’t it? Or was it Don Hartman? No, Dave was the right name.

She’d better go back toward the gates. It was— She brought her wristwatch to her face. He was already fifteen minutes late.

“He told you he might be,” she reminded herself.

The gravel crunched. Somewhere out there beyond the wall of fog.

“Dave?”

She did have the name right, didn’t she?

“Is that you, Dave?”

Nothing. No sound.

Cissy became, all at once, completely certain there was someone there. Not the man she’d come to meet. With one hand touching the statue’s base, she began to back away.

Gravel grating under someone’s foot.

Not in front of her, though. Behind. Someone was behind, the way she’d been retreating.

Okay, so the thing to do was run for the gates. Straight ahead.

If you could only see where anything was in this darned fog. The exit was ahead. Cissy knew she was going in the proper direction.

That rasping, rattling sound! That couldn’t be someone breathing? Nobody sounded like that breathing.

Something suddenly in front of her.

Glass and metal. She’d come the wrong way, gone further into the gardens and not to the gates at all. Here was a damned greenhouse dead in front of her.

The polished, black-seeming panes were like mirrors. Cissy saw a reflection of her anxious face floating there in front of her in the mist.

Then she cried out.

The mirror-panes had given her a glimpse of what was directly behind her and moving closer.

Chapter 2

A thousand lights, in crystal chandeliers pendant from the enormous domed ceiling of the casino, reflected a thousand times in the mirrored walls, the images bouncing back and forth. Cigarette smoke spiraled up from around the baccarat tables and the roulette wheel, hundreds of different perfumes and scents blended into one almost palpable cloud with the sound of voices whispering, voices pleading, voices bragging.

Pendragon rattled the ice in his glass of Scotch, scratching the small of his back on the iron handle of the French windows behind him. “You can feel it in the air,” he said.

“What?” inquired Vampirella, who was clad in a clinging evening dress of shimmering black.

“The lust for money,” replied the magician. “Look at them all, like pigs at the trough waiting for a little of the swill to splash on them.”

“You sound awfully unmaterialistic for someone who just tried to persuade LeBeck to pay us an extra $100 a week.”

“That’s business, my child; this is blind chance.” He sipped at his drink. “I don’t find the casino as romantic as I expected it to be. To be sure there are stunning women, sinister men, and all the other props of international intrigue. Somehow, though, the magic isn’t quite here. I suppose I yearn for those long-ago days when some profligate scion of a great family risked all on a single turn of the wheel and then, defeated, stepped out on yon terrace to blow his youthful brains out. Yes, in that bygone—”

Bang!

Vampirella spun, reached around him to open the French windows. “That shot came from out on the terrace.”

A slim, auburn-haired girl was already running across the stones of the night-dark terrace, crying, “Tommy, Tommy, for God’s sake!”

Slumped over the stone railing, to the left of a stone cherub, was a young man in a pastel dinner jacket. Something thick and black was oozing down the side of his face. A pistol dangled from his fingers; dangled, swung, and then clacked to the stones.

“By Jupiter!” exclaimed Pendragon as he trotted after Vampirella. “A casino suicide!”

The auburn-haired girl reached the boy, put her arms around him, and lifted him toward her. “Tommy, what did you—”

His head snapped over onto her bare shoulder. Some of the inside of his head splashed out and smeared the front of her cocktail dress and her breasts.

Vampirella touched the girl’s arm. “He’s dead. It’s much too late to do anything.”

“Tommy?” The girl gradually let go of him.

The dead young man collapsed to the ground, the last of his breath sighing out of him.

“Sit down over here,” Vampirella suggested to her.

“He killed him!” the girl cried, looking at nothing. “He killed him!” She jerked away from Vampirella, pushed through the gathering crowd and back into the bright-lit casino.

“Stay here,” Vampirella ordered Pendragon, and went after the girl.

“I don’t fancy myself a professional mourner,” remarked the magician.

A deeply tanned young man in a plaid dinner jacket ran up and knelt beside the body. “Jesus, it’s Tommy Skeller!”

“That must have been the Prudens girl, then,” said someone else.

“Who’s Tommy Skeller?” asked someone further back in the watching group.

“The pocket calculator people.”

“He just dumped four hundred thousand dollars on the roulette wheel.”

“Playing against Munks actually. That is, Munks kept goading him into larger and larger bets.”

“Who’s Munks?”

“You know, the munitions merchant, lives in that absolutely huge villa up near Prince Bavier’s palace.”

“Princess Antonia’s palace, you mean, since she runs the whole—”

“Everyone obviously knows more about this than I do,” muttered Pendragon. He started back for the casino, took two steps, and slipped on something. After making sure he’d lost not a drop of Scotch, the magician bent to see what had gotten underfoot. It was a carnation, looking almost black in the dark of the terrace. “Someone lost his boutonniàre.” He dropped the flower absently into a pocket, returned to the lights of the gambling room.

Silence and stillness met him. Everyone motionless, watching the roulette table.

Out of the silence came the angry voice of the auburn-haired girl. “You killed him, Munks! You killed Tommy Skeller!”

“Miss… Prudens, is it? I’ve been sitting here all evening.” Robert Munks was handsome, a year beyond forty, suntanned and extremely healthy-looking. His eyes, though, were a fraction too close together, and his mouth a fraction too thin.

“You know what I mean, you smirking bastard! You taunted him, insulted him, until he bet more than—”

“Miss Prudens, it was not I who made Skeller a damn fool.” Munks pushed back slightly from the table. “You’ve had your little scene, now leave me the hell alone.” He beckoned to two large men who were standing nearby.

“Come on.” Vampirella put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I’ll look after you.”

“I want something to happen to him! I want him to die! He’s been taunting Tommy, making him gamble—”

“You better go along with your girlfriend,” said Munks evenly, “or I’ll have you tossed out on your can.”

“You won’t do anything like that, Bob.” A tall man, with a slightly knocked-about outdoors face, had moved over to stand between the women and the seated Munks. He was in his middle thirties, his hair a sun-washed blond.

“Well, the prodigal is back again.” Munks smiled a thin-lipped smile. “Where have you been, Phil?”

“Traveling,” replied Philip Verdecken. He nodded at Munk’s pair of bodyguards. “Back into the woodwork, lads.” Turning his back on the arms dealer, Verdecken said to Vampirella, “It’s likely the police will want to talk with Miss Prudens. We can take her to the casino manager’s office.”

Vampirella, after a slight hesitation, answered, “Yes, very well.” She found Verdecken attractive, but she sensed at once there was something… she couldn’t quite decide what it was. She was almost frightened, though she had a definite desire to see more of him, to be with him beyond tonight.

Munks said, “We’ll have to have a friendly game, Phil. How long will you be in Macaco?”

“Not long.”

“How about tomorrow night then? I’m having some movie people up to the villa, but they won’t bother us.”

“Tomorrow night will be fine,” said Verdecken.

Chapter 3

“Is this vile yellow the only color you have for spotlights (you ten-thumbed oaf)?” Pendragon made another slow circuit of the oval stage. Shading his eyes, he stared into the darkness toward the light-projection room. “Eh?”

“It flatters the lady,” replied a voice off in the shadows of the empty cabaret.

“Indeed?” said the magician. “While making me look worse than my Aunt Emma after the cockeyed embalmer got through with her.”

Vampirella, dressed in taut flared slacks and a body-hugging jersey pullover, sat with legs crossed at the edge of the Cabaret Chinois stage. “The lighting is sufficient,” she said.

“Sufficient is not perfect.” Pendragon turned to one of his prop tables. “Very well, my basically benevolent nature forces me to make no further ado over the sickly color they choose to bathe us in. Let us therefore forge ahead with our rehearsal.” He reached into an empty top hat, plucked out a pint of Scotch. After pouring several fingers of it into a tumbler, he tapped on the table with his magic wand. “We’ll open tonight’s first show with, appropriately enough, the Chinese Casket Illusion.”

Vampirella nodded, looking out into the darkness of the afternoon club and not at her partner. “Don’t bump into the gong this time.”

“That has only happened once, dear child, on the evening I bowed too exuberantly to the vice-president and his lady.” He rotated his wrist, pointing at a spot at the stage’s center. “We’ll have the casket already on when I make my entrance. I’ll do three or four minutes of patter (depending on how the moneyed idiots in the audience react to satirical quips), then mutter an incantation. When you hear the gong you emerge from the seemingly empty casket. After the applause subsides I will do the juggling business with the crystal spheres, while you—”

“Mr. Pendragon?”

“The Great Pendragon to you.” The magician scowled down at the curly-haired young man in yachting clothes who was standing now at the foot of the stage steps. “I do not wish to be interviewed by your high-school paper, so I advise you to get yourself hence.”

“Ha, that’s amusing.” The young man grinned at Vampirella. “He’s a very amusing old gentleman. Actually I’m from Robert Munks’s place, with an invitation.”

“Munks? I don’t know if we wish to fraternize with a death merchant who—”

“It’s an invitation to put on your magic show. Tonight, after you finish up here. At his villa. Seven hundred fifty dollars.”

Pendragon stroked his nose with his forefinger. “The Great Pendragon, my boy, is an artist. The fee you mention is impressive, but—”

“Yes,” broke in Vampirella, “we’ll do it.”

Blinking at her, the magician echoed, “We’ll do it. Tell Mr. Munks to have someone here at midnight with a vehicle large enough to convey my assistant and myself along with some of our equipment.”

“You got it.” The young man grinned again and walked away into the shadows.

Pendragon lowered himself down beside the girl. “Why are we associating with a chap like Munks? Besides his loathsome everyday occupation he apparently devotes his evenings to ruining young girls and driving young men to suicide.”

Vampirella, absently, stroked her inner thigh. “There’s going to be someone at the party.”

“I sincerely hope so, since I’d hate to perform my legendary feats of wizardry solely for Munks and that puckish youth he uses as a messenger boy.”

“Someone specific,” the girl added.

“Ah, yes, it must be that sailorly looking young chap who intervened in your little confrontation with Munks last evening. Verdecken was his name, was it not?”

“Philip Verdecken, yes.”

“Does this bode well for the absent Adam Van Helsing, charming and stalwart occult investigator? I thought your heart belonged to—”

“I don’t belong to anybody,” said Vampirella, tossing her head. “Not my heart, nor any other part of me.”

“Perhaps you’re miffed with Adam because he’s once again working with his venerable father.”

“It’s not only that.” Vampirella locked her hands over one knee. “Sometimes I think Adam and I can never possibly… I’m simply too different, different from him and different, from anyone else on earth.”

“Being an unique individual is not a handicap, dear child. I myself am extraordinary in several ways, yes—”

“You’re not a vampire, you don’t need human blood in order to exist.”

Pendragon put his hand over hers. “Neither do you,” he said. “Since the advent of the blood-substitute serum you haven’t had to—”

“We’ve talked about all this before.” With an impatient shift of her shoulders the girl stood, crossed the stage. “Before and before and before… I’m interested in Philip Verdecken. I want to see him again. That’s it.”

Sighing, Pendragon swung back up onto the stage platform. “If this is a budding romance, this thing between you and Verdecken, it doesn’t seem to put you in a particularly jolly mood. Not walking on clouds at all.”

Vampirella ran her finger thoughtfully along her full lower lip. “Who said a romance had to make you happy?”

Chapter 4

His plump hand lifted a blood-red carnation from the crystal vase. “These are my favorites,” said Prince Bavier, rotating the flower slowly between thumb and forefinger. “We have our own hothouse right on the palace grounds. Much nicer than the Botanical Gardens, although—”

“You didn’t ask us here to chat about horticulture,” said the blind man who sat in a high-backed wicker chair across the large room from the prince.

Prince Bavier arranged the scarlet carnation in his button hole. “Forgive me,” he said, smiling at old Van Helsing and then at Adam. “I had forgotten you Americans love to do everything at a rapid pace. No time for the leisurely—”

“It’s merely that I don’t give a damn about flowers,” cut in Adam’s father. “If you wish to hire us to investigate something, Prince, get to the point.”

This time Prince Bavier smiled only at Adam. “Your father is a very direct old gentleman,” he observed. “Very well, I will explain why I summoned you here to Macaco.”

“Has something to do with the werewolf, doesn’t it?” asked Adam. The broad-shouldered, dark-haired young man stood near a high window, the ocean at his back far below.

Prince Bavier studied his fingertips. “You too are direct,” he said. “You rush in with a term like ‘werewolf,’ the sort of thing that will frighten off tourists if—”

“It’s obvious we’re dealing with a werewolf here,” cut in the blind man. “All your murders follow the classic pattern. Full moon, victims ripped and torn. Do you have any reason at all to fancy it’s not a lycanthrope?”

Prince Bavier stroked his thick, bristly moustache. “I’ll be as frank with you as you’re being with me. I am of the opinion that we have nothing more than a madman to contend with.” He paused, gave a coughing chuckle. “A serious enough problem, I admit, but not one to cause hysteria. Not a problem requiring occult investigators.”

Old Van Helsing said, “You wired us at the prodding of someone else then, Prince? Yes, I see that. It was your wife, Princess Antonia, who insisted.”

The prince kept his eyes on his plump fingers. “The English are supposed to be so cool and practical, yet here is my lovely Antonia behaving like some peasant from the remote hills,” he said. “Yes, gentlemen, it was Antonia who urged me to hire the celebrated Van Helsings. She is absolutely certain a werewolf is roaming our little country.”

“There’s some precedent for her belief,” said Adam. “Macaco has been bothered by lycanthropes before.”

The chuckling cough again. “Perhaps,” said Prince Bavier. “Again there’s no absolute proof. The few incidents which can be documented occurred years ago.”

“What about James Verrue?” asked Adam. “He was captured and confessed.”

“A madman, obviously,” said the prince. “Verrue also claimed to be an heir to the throne of Macaco. Anyway, the unfortunate man died in an asylum more than forty years ago.”

“Ah!” In his chair the blind man suddenly clutched at his chest.

“What is wrong?” The plump Prince ran toward him.

Van Helsing waved him off. “Nothing is the matter, Prince,” he said in a weak, thin voice.

Adam crossed the thick Oriental carpet, put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “See something?”

Slowly the old man nodded his head. “Yes, something to do with this James Verrue we were… nothing quite clear. We’ll talk of it later.”

Prince Bavier asked, “Am I to understand your father has visions?”

Van Helsing answered for himself. “Since losing my sight some years ago, Prince, my extrasensory powers have increased greatly.”

Shrugging his shoulders, the ruler of Macaco turned away. “Were it not for your international reputation, gentlemen, I would suspect you were trying to hoax me,” he said. “Much in the way a spiritualist tries to gull his foolish customers.”

“You’d better hire somebody else, Prince Bavier,” suggested Adam, angrily. “We won’t work for anyone who—”

“No, no, forgive me.” The prince faced them. “It’s you I want to investigate these murders. My Antonia insists it must be the famous Van Helsings who get to the bottom of this business. As I mentioned earlier, if these brutal killings don’t cease they’ll have a serious effect on the tourist trade.”

“What have your own police come up with?” inquired Van Helsing.

“Inspector Gaboriau has been in charge of the investigation, a most capable detective,” replied Prince Bavier. “He has come up, however, with very little. There may be a pattern, some kind of logic behind the murders, but Gaboriau has been unable to find it. A madman’s logic, I’m afraid, is very difficult to comprehend.”

“I’d like to talk to the inspector.”

“I will arrange it.”

Van Helsing adjusted the black-lensed glasses that hid his blind eyes and stood, saying, “We’re staying at the Hotel Dindon. You can contact us there, and we’ll make regular reports to you. My respects to the princess.”

Rubbing his plump hands together, the prince said, “The princess regrets being a bit indisposed. Her doctor is with her now… and it’s possible we may have an heir to the throne to anticipate.”

“Very good news,” said the blind man.

“Yes, especially if it is a boy.”

“It will be,” said Van Helsing.

Prince Bavier blinked. “You are certain?”

“Certain.”

Chuckling, the prince escorted them to the ornately carved door of the chamber. “That’s most gratifying,” he said.

When Adam and his father were crossing the formal gardens of the hilltop palace the young man asked, “What did you see?”

“A male heir for the prince and princess.”

“I mean about James Verrue.”

“The vision… what I saw… wasn’t completely clear,” said his father. “But I know… Verrue was definitely a werewolf… and that there is some… some sort of connection between him and the palace.”

“What sort of a connection?”

The blind man shook his head. “That I don’t know,” he said. “Yet.”

Chapter 5

The afternoon sea stretched away blue, a warm breeze was blowing across the cliff-top park. Janey Prudens sat on a wrought-iron bench, shivering, her arms wrapped tightly over her chest.

Leaning, one elbow resting atop the sundial, and watching the auburn-haired girl was a stout man of fifty-one. He filled his pipe from a plastic pouch, thrust the pipestem between his teeth. “Then you believe,” he asked, “young Mr. Skeller took his own life?”

Janey said, “What else can I believe? That’s what happened, inspector.”

“Perhaps,” said Inspector Gaboriau.

The girl’s eyes widened. “I practically saw Tommy… shoot himself.”

“But you were not actually on the terrace when the shot was fired.”

“No, I heard it, ran out and… saw him.”

“You saw no one else?”

“Not a soul, no,” said Janey slowly. “Do you have some reason… evidence… you think Tommy was murdered? Is that it?”

The police inspector removed his unlit pipe from his mouth. “Mr. Skeller’s ambition was to be something besides an executive in the family company.”

“Tommy hated the company,” replied the girl. “He wanted to be a writer. I think he could have been except… he couldn’t keep from gambling. He couldn’t ignore people like Munks, anyone who challenged him.”

From the breast pocket of his coat Gaboriau took an envelope. “It’s strange,” he said, “that in the rooms of this budding author we found not one scrap of paper to indicate he’d ever written anything beyond a letter or a check.”

“But… Tommy had all sorts of notebooks. Ledgers, they were. He jotted down all sorts of notes for stories and magazine articles. You must have found them.”

Inspector Gaboriau shook his head. “Not a trace.”

“But—”

“We did find this.” He tapped the envelope with the stem of his pipe. “It arrived for your Mr. Skeller the afternoon after his death, and his landlord handed it over to us. Whoever took all his notes couldn’t have anticipated this communication from America.” Gaboriau removed a crisp sheet of stationery from the envelope. “It is from a magazine called Reportage, a fairly popular weekly in your country, I understand. An associate editor there wrote to Mr. Skeller, ‘If you can document what you say about this cult that is flourishing in Macaco, we’ll of course be happy to see your article.’ ” He looked up. “You knew of this?”

“I didn’t, not at all,” said Janey. “Tommy was always talking about doing something for magazines like Reportage, but I didn’t know he’d sent them a query. What cult could he have meant?”

The inspector returned the letter to its envelope. “I have a few suspicions,” he said. “You know nothing of any group Mr. Skeller might have been investigating?”

“No, and I thought… well, Tommy and I told each other everything.” She put her hands together, fingers intertwining and twisting. “Are you implying Tommy was poking around into the activities of some cult and they… killed him?”

“At the moment I am implying nothing, Miss Prudens,” said Gaboriau. “I am merely inquiring.”

The girl asked, “Could there really be anything like that around here? A secret group of—what?—devil worshipers?”

“There could be, yes.”

“Then you’ve heard of such a thing before?”

The inspector tapped his pipe against the side of the sundial. “I will escort you back to your hotel now, Miss Prudens.”

After a few seconds Janey stood. “I don’t… I don’t know what to think now, inspector. How did Tommy die? Who was responsible?”

“Yes, there are a great many questions to be answered,” the inspector agreed. “Should we be especially fortunate, we will find answers to most of them.”

Chapter 6

Smoke and laughter, filling all the main floor rooms of the villa, spilling out onto the marble terrace. Robert Munks sat in a canvas chair on the stone terrace, two of his men close by. “That means nothing to me,” he was telling the thin, dark man who sat opposite him in the darkness.

“Surely the attrocities General Faustuoso has committed in my country—”

“What the general does in his own country is of no interest,” cut in Munks. “Even if the horror stories you’ve been telling me made me bawl like a baby, Gomez, it wouldn’t affect the price of the weapons you want.”

“But our cause is a—”

“I’ve told you the price, Gomez. Can you meet it?”

“The Liberation Front is prepared to pay you twenty-five thousand dollars now, the remainder when our country is once again—”

“No deal, Gomez. This isn’t a used-car lot I’m running, a little down and a dribble each month.” He got up from the chair. “General Faustuoso is likely to line you all up against the nearest stone wall long before your half-assed revolution comes off. That doesn’t mean anything to me either, except I’d lose anything you still owed me. You get me the whole amount in front, then I get you the weapons.”

Gomez, wiping at his forehead with his display handkerchief, followed the munitions dealer to the marble railing. “Such a thing is not possible,” he said. “However, you have my word—”

“Your word isn’t worth diddlysquat, Gomez.” Palms pressed to the railing, Munks watched the lights of the beach and the casinos far below. “I learned a long time ago that money is my only friend. No cash, no weapons.”

Gomez grabbed at Munks’ arm. “You are a gambler. Why not take a chance on the Liberation Front? I assure you we shall win the—”

“I only bet on sure things.” He pulled clear of the man, nodding at his bodyguards. “It’s time for Gomez to join the party.”

One of the hulky men took hold of Gomez. “Magic show’ll be starting pretty soon, Mr. Gomez. You don’t want to miss it.”

“I did not come here to—”

“If he won’t stop bitching, toss him out.”

There were over a hundred people in the enormous living room. Near the French windows a handsome, shaggy-headed young man in wraparound dark glasses and a prefaded, preshrunk jeans suit was slouching with his arm around the waist of a beautiful nineteen-year-old girl in a very sparse white evening gown.

“It’s a piece of crap,” the handsome young man was telling the silver-haired Italian who faced him.

The producer, Pontius Monumento, cupped a ringed hand to his ear. “Eh? Crap? You tell me Marcel Proust is crap?”

Bam Murty said, “Your script is crap. I don’t know about Proust.”

“It’s not true to Proust,” added the beautiful girl.

Deeper into the room a very thin girl with platinum hair was scrutinizing Pendragon. “But I’ve got six hundred papers in the United States alone,” she said.

“Alas, Miss Eels, I only have time, being so much in demand, to skim Variety and the Christian Science Monitor. And if I hadn’t mastered speed reading I wouldn’t even be able to handle those.”

“That’s Hollywood for You by Kim Eels? Everyone reads it.”

“I will get me to the newspaper room of the Macaco Free Library tomorrow at the crack of dawn (make that the crack of noon) to find an out-of-town paper with your feature in it, Miss Eels.” He paused to finish off another glass of Scotch. “Since you appear to be a very witty and perceptive person I’ve no doubt your work— What’s ailing you, my dear?”

The thin girl was hunching, squinting. “I don’t like to wear my glasses at these things, and my contact lenses fell out when Pontius Monumento hugged me earlier in the evening,” she said. “So I really can’t see as well as I ought. Who’s that over there? The striking brunette. That can’t be Merle Oberon?”

“Nay, ‘tis Vampirella.”

“Oh, yes, I know all about her. I understand Jean-Claude Voltaire is thinking of signing her for Joan of Arc: II.”

“Indeed? Would there also be a part for a mature leading man sort of—”

“Look what Butch McAlpin is doing to Zona Beyer!”

Pendragon succeeded in acquiring another drink from a passing tray. He sipped, glanced over at Vampirella in time to see her tense. Philip Verdecken had come into the crowded room. “What do you know about this lad, Miss Eels?”

The columnist squinted. “Oh, yeah, that’s Phil Verdecken. Do you know him?”

“Not intimately.”

“He’s one of the few people I’ve never been able to get an interview with. A mystery man for sure. There are all sorts of rumors floating around concerning him,” said Kim Eels as Verdecken worked his way through the crowd to Vampirella. “He never settles anywhere very long, always on the move. You’ll always find him with the best and brightest people, and he’s a dedicated gambler. I heard a funny thing once… but it’s impossible.”

“What, my dear?”

“Oh, I was talking to Hazel Delray at a party on the coast once—the silent star, remember?—and when Verdecken came in Hazel insisted he was the same man she’d met right here on the Riviera back in 1925. Which would make him something like seventy-five years old. Old people, especially old actresses, have odd notions sometimes.”

“Did Miss Delray mention her notion to Verdecken?”

“She did, though I tried to discourage her,” replied Kim Eels. “He was very charming— he’s charming about everything—told her she’d probably confused him with a great-uncle of his. Hazel always believed it was the same man. Impossible, of course.”

Pendragon watched Verdecken take Vampirella’s hand and smile at her. “Oh, yes,” he muttered, “quite impossible.”

Chapter 7

“I expected you’d be here tonight,” Philip Verdecken said to Vampirella. He took her hand. It was warm in his.

“Oh, do I seem like the sort of person Munks would collect?” she asked.

Verdecken smiled, shaking his head. “I’m something of a hunch player,” he told her. “I had a hunch you’d be at this little gathering.”

“We’ve been asked, Pendragon and I, to perform. That’s what I do, you know—I’m an… actress I guess is the word.”

“My stay in Macaco won’t be long,” Verdecken said. “I want to see you, as much as I can, before I leave. I’m committed to play against Munks tonight, but—”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Tonight? We may go on all night.”

“Yes, I know.” She pressed one hand flat against her throat where a telltale muscle pulsed.

“All right. I’d like that.”

Vampirella’s face grew sad, her lips almost pouting. “Quite often,” she said, slowly, “I’m able to… sense things… things that are going to happen, things about people.”

Verdecken leaned closer. “Which means you’re something of a hunch player, too?”

Her frown deepened. “It’s more than that, Philip,” she said. “Later, when we’re alone… there are things about myself I want to tell you. About—”

“There’s no need,” Verdecken said. his hands on her smooth naked shoulders. “Already I know all I need to about you, Vampirella.”

“No, not all.”

“My habit, necessitated by the wandering style of my life, is not to get too deeply—”

“This time,” she said, “it’ll be more than that.” Vampirella put her hands over his, arms crossing over her upthrust breasts. “But, Philip, I sense something about you… beyond the attractiveness. I know you… in some way… are as much an alien in this world as I am.”

Verdecken’s smile remained on his face, but he swallowed before speaking. “This is much too profound a conversation for a Robert Munks’ cocktail party.”

“Will you tell me about yourself?” she asked him. “Because, Philip, I’m very much afraid—”

“Yes, I’ll tell you. But not now, not here.” He watched her still sad face. “You do sense what I really am, don’t you?”

“I think I do,” she answered in a quiet voice.

“Another hour until we play, Phil.” Munks was standing beside him. “Your intrusive girlfriend and her boozer partner are going to attempt to entertain us first. After that, it’s you and me. You in the mood for a little poker?”

Verdecken inclined his head slightly. “I’ll allow you the choice of weapons, Robert.”

Silently, without speaking, Vampirella left them.

“Who is that man? The Wandering Jew?” said Pendragon while examining his lined face in the mirror. “Or mayhap the Flying Dutchman?”

They were in a bedroom that had been set aside for them as a dressing room.

Vampirella had changed into her scant scarlet costume and sharp-heeled black boots. “You ought to save your quips for our host. You have similar minds.”

“Tut tut, my child.” The magician picked up a glass of Scotch from the dressing table. “Don’t allow the fact that I mask my concern for you with the traditional Pendragon levity put you off. There’s something unusual about this Philip Verdecken, and I consider it my duty to—”

“Well, I don’t consider it your duty to interfere,” Vampirella told him, tossing her head angrily. “You’re not my dueña, and I’m of age.”

Pendragon rotated a mouthful of Scotch from one cheek to the other. “Friends have been known to show concern for each other without being accused of high treason and crimes against—”

“It’s not showing concern when you come running to me with some idiotic gossip you picked up from that star-struck sob sister who—”

“Child, you mustn’t malign the ladies of the press,” Pendragon said. “I merely mentioned to you the possibility, perhaps remote, that Philip Verdecken is an old, old man who goes around posing as—”

“I’m tired of everyone, you and Adam and everyone, telling me what I can do and what I can’t do, as though I were a not-too-bright schoolgirl.” Vampirella scowled at him, hands on hips, nostrils flaring, breasts rising and falling rapidly. “I like Philip, I intend to spend time with him. And I shall! In fact, I’m going to stay here with him after our performance. Stay with him while he plays cards against Munks. You can go home to the hotel, don’t wait for me.”

Pendragon slipped his scarlet-lined black cape over his shoulders, fastened the gold clasp. “Very well, my dear, I’ll wander forlorn into the night once we have entertained these high-salaried oafs,” he said. “But you know, and I know, you wouldn’t be this mad at me if you yourself didn’t already suspect that what I’ve told you about Verdecken is probably true.”

Vampirella turned away from him.

Chapter 8

The palm trees rustled and rattled in the night wind. There was light all around, glaring out of the café‘s and bistros. The louvered doors of a narrow saloon came flapping open and a world-famous cowboy stumbled out, tripped over one of his spurs, and fell face-flat into the gutter.

“Ah, the curse of drink,” observed Pendragon to himself as he wended his way home.

Several starlets were circling a sputtering cherub-topped fountain. The blondest tugged her evening dress down off her breasts. “Oh yeah, who says they aren’t real?”

“The decline of the West,” said the magician, after one final glance back at the girl.

“What do you think of these?” inquired another of the starlets.

Pendragon turned again, missed his footing, and stepped on a platinum-blond poodle. “Damnation and ruin!” he muttered.

“Clumsy fool!” said the platinum-blond Yugoslavian movie director who was in charge of the dog.

“A thousand pardons, madam… sir, that is.”

“Sexist dolt!”

Pendragon continued, more rapidly, on his way. He could see the brilliantly lit façade of his hotel up ahead. Admittedly, he thought, I don’t have much in the way of extrasensory powers. Still, with all my other gifts, I can’t complain. Yet even without a whiff of ESP in my makeup, I have the unsettling feeling no good will come of Vampirella’s infatuation with this Verdecken lad. There is definitely something unusual about him… mayhap not what the Eels damsel hinted at, but something. He’s dangerous. Is that really so? Or am I simply playing the jealous pater familias? No, the Great Pendragon has not a jealous bone in his body. Verdecken is indeed dangerous. In fact—Yike!

A hand had taken hold of his arm. “Been looking for you.”

Pendragon got his respiratory system functioning smoothly again. “Adam Van Helsing, as I live and (more or less) breathe,” he said, chuckling.

Adam grinned. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Pendragon.”

“I was lost in reflection.” The magician nodded at a bar across the street. “Perhaps a fortifying drop will put me back on an even keel.”

“Okay.” Adam guided him into the club. “Is Vampirella coming along soon? She could join us and—”

“Alas, Adam, I doubt she’ll appear immediately.” He crossed the long dim room, found his way to the bar.

Adam took a stool next to Pendragon. “What do you mean? Is she in some kind of trouble?”

“Scotch on the rocks,” the magician told the bearded bartender. “Odd you should phrase it that way, my boy. My recent ruminations were along exactly such lines. Oh, she’s not in any dire predicament… probably. Not yet.”

“How about telling me where she is?”

“Why are you here in Macaco, by the way?”

“My father and I have been hired by the prince— more likely the princess—to do some investigating,” answered Adam. “I can fill you in on the job later. Where’s Vampirella?”

“At the moment she’s at the posh villa of a weaponry baron named Robert Munks. However…”

“However what?”

“Adam, I fear you have a rival.” Pendragon’s drink arrived.

Adam waited until the magician had sipped at it before asking, “Another guy, huh?”

“A chap calling himself Philip Verdecken. Rich, handsome, and a gambler of some repute,” replied Pendragon. “Right now he is facing Munks in a friendly game of cards, with Vampirella sitting by to give him moral support.”

“Verdecken? Never heard of him. How’d Vampirella meet the guy?”

“She encountered him two nights ago at the casino,” said Pendragon. “A suicide brought them together.”

“A suicide?”

” ‘Twas at the casino, and a young chap named Skeller did himself in, seemingly as a result of his most substantial losses at the wheel of fortune. Vampirella took an interest in the unfortunate lass who had accompanied the ill-fated Skeller. In the course of looking after her, and preventing her from venting her wrath on Munks, Vampirella met Verdecken.”

“What’d this Munks have to do with the kid’s suicide?”

“The girl, a Miss Prudens if memory serves, is of the opinion Munks goaded the lad into betting more than was wise on the red and the black.”

“How does Verdecken fit in? You say he’s gambling with Munks tonight?”

“Munks and Verdecken appear to be old rivals,” Pendragon said. “I have an unpleasant foreboding (no such thing as a pleasant foreboding, is there?) no good will come of the relationship between Vampirella and this mysterious fellow.”

Adam shrugged. “That’s her business. I’m not going to interfere.”

“No doubt you’re aware of my wide experience in the romantic area, Adam,” said Pendragon after emptying his glass. “Take it from an old campaigner, Adam, that Vampirella’s interest in Verdecken is due in part to her anger at you.”

Nodding, Adam said, “Yeah, I know. She doesn’t think I should keep working with my father.”

“One can’t really blame her, since your respected parent has displayed distinct antivampire bias.”

“She isn’t a vampire,” said Adam. “Not in the sense that my father means.”

“It’s a very complex universe.” Pendragon beckoned to the bartender. “I don’t think, even now, I fully understand Vampirella. I do know, however, she still believes she is a vampire. Someone, therefore, to be shunned or hunted down.”

“I’ve tried to convince her it doesn’t matter.”

“The rub is,” said Pendragon, “it does matter, to Vampirella and to your father.”

Adam rested both hands on the bar. “She’s not liable to get back until much later, I guess.”

“Much later, yes.”

“Might as well go back to my hotel.”

Pendragon succeeded in ordering a new drink. “Why not while away the waning hours of the night by telling me about the case you’ve come to Macaco to investigate?”

After a moment Adam said, “Okay, I might as well. We’re here to look into the activities of what will probably turn out to be a werewolf.”

Pendragon slapped a palm against his brow. “Ah, I might have known,” he said.

Chapter 9

Robert Munks exhaled smoke. “Having your girlfriend around makes you pretty damn cautious, Phil,” he said, tapping his thin black cigar before putting it back in his mouth. “I’ll see your one thousand dollars, raise you five thousand.” He pushed more ivory chips toward the center of the wide round table. “Are you too chicken to match that?”

“I know I am,” said Bam Murty, who was one of the three other poker players. Dropping his cards face down in front of him, he pushed back his chair, yawned once, scratched at his crotch. “I quit, retire, and abdicate.”

“Well, Phil?” inquired Munks, blowing out another plume of smoke.

Verdecken was sitting, relaxed and with a faint smile on his lips, with one hand steepled over his cards. “See you.” He pushed five thousand-dollar chips into the pot. “And call.”

Munks inquired, “You other schmucks in or out?”

The French producer and the Lithuanian distributor shook their heads at the same time. The producer shoved away from the round table.

“You and me, babe,” said Munks. “You’ve taken quite a few pots tonight, Phil. This time, though, I’ve got you by the short hairs.” He began to display his cards, announcing each as he slapped it down. “King of hearts, king of clubs, king of diamonds… accompanied by the ace of hearts and the ace of diamonds.”

The overhead lights above the round table made a circle of light in the otherwise dim room. In the darkness Vampirella sat in a wing chair, long legs pressed together, hands folded in her lap. The large window at her back was chill, the night outside filled with mist. It would soon be dawn.

Verdecken turned up the ace of spades.

“The death ace,” murmured the Lithuanian.

Verdecken followed the ace with the king, queen, jack, and ten of spades. “Thank you for an interesting evening,” he said to Munks while gathering in the considerable mound of chips.

“Son of a bitch,” exclaimed Munks, “you’re the luckiest— How about one more hand, just you and me, double or nothing?”

“Not tonight.” Verdecken stacked the chips in even piles before standing. “You can send me a check, Munks. I’m renting a villa on the Rue Baignoire. Good evening, gentlemen.” He moved into the darkness, reached out, and took Vampirella’s hand.

She smiled at him, but her hand was cold.

A thin line of pale sunlight, intruding between two heavy drapes, divided the far wall of the otherwise dark bedroom.

Vampirella ran one slender hand across Verdecken’s bare chest, then sat up on the wide bed. “Now I want to talk.”

He rested his palm on her smooth warm back. “All right,” he said, “I’ll tell you about myself, since—”

“Wait,” she said. “Let me talk first, Philip.”

“There’s really no need to turn this room into a confessional.”

“There is, though, yes. I want you to know who I am.” Vampirella rubbed her forefinger slowly up and down between her bare breasts. “Very few people know. Only a few friends… and a few enemies. I told you before, Philip, that I’m an alien. I mean that literally, not philosophically. This planet, this Earth, is not my true home. I come from a distant planet called Drakulon.” She paused to look down into his face. “A planet where… where in order to maintain life each of us must take in a certain amount of blood each day. This was not a problem, not originally, on Drakulon. But here on your world, once I had escaped here from my dying planet… At first the only way I could survive was by… by taking blood, taking it from living human beings. I became… a vampire. A creature that must be tracked down and destroyed.”

Verdecken said only, “Go on.”

“My first few months on Earth I lived that way—I had to,” Vampirella continued. “Then… someone helped me… even though his motives were selfish. He developed a blood-substitute serum. I must take the serum now, once a day. So long as I do I can live a relatively normal life. Relatively normal, since I can’t ever forget what I was, what I had to do to hold onto life.” She stopped talking, brought up her knees and rested her head against them.

Gently, Verdecken stroked her naked back. “You’ve sensed something about what I am, too, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I told you I’m able to sense things.”

“About me you sensed what?”

“It’s tied in with the gambling,” answered the girl, “and with your wandering. I have the feeling, Philip… somewhere, quite a while ago, your life stopped. You didn’t die, I don’t mean that. But there was a halt, a stopping.”

“You’re right, although I hadn’t quite thought of it in that way,” he said. “Yes, Vampirella, my life did stop in a way, stopped moving along the normal line… the inevitable line that almost everyone’s must follow. I was born in Philadelphia in 1872. Yes, over a hundred years ago.” He smiled there in the sunless room. “You needn’t say I don’t look it. No, I look exactly as I did in 1905—the year I made my little bargain.” He felt her body begin to shiver beneath his hand. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” said Vampirella, “nothing.”

“I was always a gambler, usually exceptionally lucky,” Verdecken went on. “On that particular evening in the winter of 1905 I was playing roulette at a casino here on the Riviera. There was a woman, and possibly my thinking about her and what she’d done to me distracted me. Lord, she died an old, wrinkled crone in the last year of the Second World War. At any rate, on that particular night I managed to lose everything. The woman, all the money I possessed, and most of my self-respect. So I went for a long walk out on a deserted stretch of beach in the bleak, black hours before dawn. A pistol was in my pocket, I was determined this should be my last walk. Beside a jumble of black rocks I stopped, drew out my pistol. Before I pressed the barrel to my temple I said aloud, ‘If only I could somehow keep on playing, keep on winning, I’d do anything.’ A simple enough wish… and it made me what I now am. Because my wish was granted, after certain conditions were fulfilled. As I stood there on that dismal beach—”

“Enough,” interrupted Vampirella. “Don’t tell me any more now, Philip!” She stretched out close beside him on the bed, her breasts pressing against him, her arms wound around him. “There really isn’t much time. So, please, don’t say anything more.”

“There’s an infinity of time. Don’t you see—”

Vampirella stopped him in mid-sentence with her kiss.

Chapter 10

The notepaper crackled beneath her fingers.

Vampirella lost the last traces of sleep, the dreams of the long fall through space and of a lonely night beach far away in time fragmented. She lifted the note from the pillow beside her.

Didn’t want to wake you. Back in an hour, Verdecken had written. Wait if you wish, if not I’ll meet you later at the Chinois. Love.

Vampirella, naked, jumped from the bed and ran to the draped windows. The day was dying and twilight was filling the villa grounds.

There, just pushing open the wrought-iron gates, was Verdecken.

She would follow him, find out where he was going. Vampirella dressed quickly, pulled her clothes onto her supple body swiftly. Already she sensed what he was involved in. Perhaps, though, she was wrong. She would follow him to find out.

Prince Bavier shook his head at the image of his lovely wife. “You grow unduly modest with the years, dear Antonia,” he said.

Princess Antonia, a slim, blonde woman of thirty-six, sat at her dressing table with her recently discarded dressing gown pressed to her breasts. “I’ve asked you many times,” she said, not bothering to look at him or his reflection, “to knock before entering, my bedroom.”

“I’m reluctant to do that,” the chubby monarch told her. “A man’s home is his castle, after all, and vice versa.” He gave a coughing chuckle.

“What do you want?”

“I’ll be going out for a few hours, dear Antonia,” said Prince Bavier. “Knowing you might be concerned, I popped in to inform you of the fact.”

“Yes, thank you for being thoughtful. Now if you’ll leave—”

“I would think, dear Antonia, that since I’ve obligingly hired the illustrious Van Helsings to investigate our little problem, you’d be a bit grateful.”

“I am, Bavier. Thank you.”

“You might show it by—”

“That’s close enough.”

Prince Bavier halted. He found himself beside a marble top table on which, sat a vase of his favorite scarlet carnations. He took one, arranged it in his buttonhole. “Very well, dear Antonia. I’m a highly patient man.”

“Good-by.”

After leaving the princess’s bedroom the prince walked down the wide carpeted corridor and into his study. Closing the door, he crossed to one of the built-in bookcases and pressed at a rough spot on the wood. Silently, a section of wall swung open, books and all.

Prince Bavier stepped through.

The Cult of Chaos is as old as time. It has existed throughout recorded history, small bloody covens showing up in all periods of time in all parts of the world. It flourished, was especially strong, throughout the Middle Ages. The cult is attacked by name in the Malleus Maleficarum of those celebrated inquisitors, Jacob Sprenger and Henricus Institor. Cagliostro was almost certainly a member, at least during his years in England. Cotton Mather preached more than one sermon against the Companions of Chaos to his Boston congregations in the late seventeenth century. It is generally believed that the eccentric author of the dread Necronomicon was driven to suicide by what he’d learned of the doings of the followers of the demon Chaos and his Seven Servants from the Nethervoid. Undoubtedly the mysterious disappearance of Ambrose Bierce in the wilds of Mexico in the early part of our own century is linked with the doings of the Cult of Chaos. Those who Worship Chaos and the seven lesser, though powerful, demons who serve him believe this fearful demon can grant them any favor—be it wealth, power or even immortality. There is of course a price to be paid. Chaos demands sacrifice, the sacrifice of living human beings on his altars. If Chaos is not continually appeased, then all favors will be withdrawn and retribution will follow. The symbol of the cult, and it has been found in the splendid tombs of Egyptian kings and on the walls of prehistoric caves, is a circle split by a bolt of lightning.

That symbol was emblazoned on the damp stone walls of the underground room Prince Bavier entered now. There were a dozen others in the dark-walled room, some already wearing long gray robes, others donning them. The rotund prince went to a shadowy corner and selected his robe. Of late it was a bit tight on him. “The police don’t suspect anything, do they?” he asked the robed girl who was standing nearby.

“I’m afraid they do,” replied Janey Prudens.

“What? I understand you staged a most convincing suicide.”

“Maybe they believe the suicide, maybe not,” said the girl. “But your inspector knows what Tommy Skeller was digging into.”

Prince Bavier fastened his robe up the front. “How can that be? Every trace of what he’d gathered on the Cult of Chaos was taken from his rooms and destroyed.”

“He wrote a query letter to Reportage. Asked if they’d be interested in an article on some sort of cult activity in Macaco. They wrote back saying they would. Inspector Gaboriau got the letter. It arrived, unfortunately, after we went over Tommy’s rooms.”

“Yes, that is unfortunate,” said the prince. “Well, that’s one more reason why it might be a good idea to get rid of Gaboriau.”

“The inspector might make a splendid sacrifice to Chaos,” said Janey. “Along with those Van Helsings.”

Prince Bavier said, “I’m not too awfully worried about them. I think my dear Antonia has exaggerated their abilities. The old man seems practically doddering.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate them,” said Philip Verdecken, who joined them now. “I’ve heard of them, and they’ve solved a great many very difficult cases.”

“And what about this girl Vampirella?” asked the prince.

“What about her? She has nothing to do with any of this.”

“Doesn’t she? Apparently you don’t know who she is,” said Bavier. “But I do. Rumors about her have been finding their way to me for several months. She’s caused a considerable amount of trouble for the followers of Chaos. If you ask me, it’s Vampirella who should be—”

“She’s not to be harmed,” said Verdecken evenly.

“Ah,” said Janey, “romance getting in the way of judgment. And wasn’t it you, dear Philip, who told me I shouldn’t let my feelings about Tommy Skeller stand in our way when it was time to destroy him?”

Verdecken watched the auburn-haired girl with narrowed eyes. “This is different,” he said finally.

“Is it really?”

There was a stone altar across the room. One of the robed figures put a torch to the two urns which flanked the altar. Sooty orange flames flickered up toward the low ceiling.

“It is time to begin,” said Prince Bavier.

Chapter 11

A dozen photographers went galloping by. Pendragon wrinkled his nose, picked up his glass, and took another sip. The Norwegian cowboy actor didn’t wish to be photographed and downhill a grunting, shouting fight was developing. “That’s the trouble with these outdoor cafés,” observed the magician.

The lights along the twisting cobblestone street began to glow on.

Two women in pants suits halted directly opposite Pendragon’s outdoor table, nudging each other, chortling. “I just bet it is,” said one.

“Oh, I can’t believe it is.”

“I bet it is.”

Raising his eyebrows to impressive heights, the magician returned their stares. “Can it be that you are ogling little me, dear ladies?”

“Oh, it is.”

“He sounds just like him.”

“It is, it must be.”

The heftier of the two old ladies inquired, “Are you who we think you are?”

“Quite possibly, my sweet,” Pendragon replied. “Who exactly do you think I am?”

“You tell him.”

“You tell him.”

The heftier, rushing through the question, asked, “Are you, you know, that movie actor, Clifton Webb?”

“Eh?” Pendragon gave them a good chance to study his profile. “The late lamented Mr. Webb has been mouldering in his grave for lo these many years. Surely, you can’t see any resemblance between that aged chorus boy and the Great Pendragon?”

“We didn’t know you were dead—he was dead, that is.”

“He was very handsome, for an older man.”

“Fire and brimstone, dear ladies, I am hardly past me prime.”

The heftier one said, “Is that who you are—the Great Pendragon?”

“Indeed, I am he and no other.”

“We never heard of you. What are some of the movies you’ve been in?”

“I scorn the cinema,” he said. “To me the only valid form of the show business is live theater. I advise you to visit the Cabaret Chinois of an evening if you wish to witness wizardry at its best.”

The heftier one gasped. “Oh, we’ve heard about that magic show. There’s a girl in it who’s no better than she should be and wears next to nothing and—”

“We’d better be getting along,” urged her friend. “Nice to have met you, Mr. Pendragon.”

As they marched off Pendragon finished his Scotch. “Perhaps no one will be shocked tonight, since it appears Vampirella will not be—”

“Any word?” Adam Van Helsing had come striding up the twilight street to join him.

“Nary a whisper.”

“Well,” sighed Adam.

“Being a man of infinite resourcefulness, I shall be able to do the show this evening alone, if need be,” Pendragon said. “Though I hate to think of Vampirella breaking the code of the stage and not showing up.”

“Have you phoned this Verdecken guy?”

Pendragon cleared his throat. “As Vampirella pointed out to me on a recent occasion, I am not her guardian,” he said. “She’s what we call in legal circles a consenting adult, so if she wishes to run off with this footloose gambler— Well, I really can’t stop her, Adam. I simply don’t feel it’s right and proper to call him up to ask him to send Vampirella back to us. You understand?”

“Yeah, I do,” admitted Adam reluctantly. “But if you wanted to, you could phone him? You know where he is?”

“I have, during the course of the afternoon, asked a few discreet questions here and there in Macaco. The result is I know which villa friend Verdecken is renting for his brief stay here.”

“Where?”

“I’d best not tell you yet.”

“I’m not going to go rushing up there like a moonstruck teenager.”

“Very well, the villa is located at number seventy-two Rue Baignoire.”

“I wonder if she’ll go along with him when he leaves Macaco,” Adam said.

Pendragon spread his hands wide. “Would that I knew.”

Vampirella reached the deserted villa as the twilight darkened to night. With her leopard-skin coat wrapped tightly around her, she followed Verdecken, undetected, from his villa and through the winding streets to this vast, sprawling place. The big hollow house sat in the center of two acres of unkempt overgrown grounds, a building of stone and tile and wrought iron. Verdecken had pushed through the rusted iron gates, cut across the weedy lawn and through the stark, twisted trees.

There was a path of sorts, worn recently by someone coming the way Verdecken had. Vampirella followed the path, the night closing in around her.

The high, wide oaken doors of the villa were chained and padlocked. Very quietly and carefully Vampirella circled the house. At the rear of the place, facing the ruined terrace, was an unlocked door.

Vampirella stood in a shadowed arbor, watching the house for several minutes. Then she returned to the door, silently turned the knob and entered the corridor.

A dusty, musty smell filled the long dark hall. She closed the door, rested with her back against it, listening.

Voices murmuring, chanting, from below somewhere.

“… way is…”

“… way is opening…”

“… Astaroth, Nergal…”

“… Adramelech, Astaroth…”

Vampirella had heard such chanting before, most recently in the caverns beneath a shunned castle in the Dolomites. She eased along the dark corridor. The voices grew louder as she neared a slightly open door.

“Help us prepare the path!”

“Belphegor, Rimmon, Thamuz!”

“Help us prepare the path!”

“Belphegor, Rimmon, Thamuz!”

The doorway led to a cobwebbed parlor, furnished in faded last-century splendor. Again a path was discernible, freshly marked across the dusty floor. Through narrowed eyes Vampirella discerned it in the nearly dark room.

“Mighty Chaos, we bow before your might!”

“Mighty Chaos, we bow before your might!”

“Adramelech, Astaroth, Nergal, Baal!”

“Adramelech, Astaroth, Nergal, Baal!”

“Let your Seven Servants grant us that which we desire!”

“Let your Seven Servants grant us that which we desire!”

“Belphegor, Rimmon, Thamuz!”

“Belphegor, Rimmon, Thamuz!”

Ten, fifteen people were down there at least. And one of them was Philip Verdecken. All along, then, she’d been right. But her liking for him, the physical attraction had masked part of it. No more doubt now, though. He was deeply involved with—She was aware of something behind her. Vampirella turned.

Not soon enough.

She felt a sharp metallic crack across the side of her head. Then she felt nothing further.

Chapter 12

Shoulders hunched, Pendragon sat at his dressing table in the Cabaret Chinois and stared at his nearly full glass of Scotch. “Ah, what a forlorn state I must be in,” he observed. “Too despairing even to find solace in booze.”

There was a tapping on the dressing-room door.

The magician straightened. “Perhaps ‘tis news of—”

LeBeck, the small round manager of the club, came in. “Alas,” he said.

“Alas what, my good man?”

“The lovely, the exquisite Miss Vampirella is not here yet?”

Pendragon said, “She is ill this evening, as I already explained.”

LeBeck, waggling one hand in the air, said, “A polite fiction, M. Pendragon. I had hoped she would appear. Our customers are—”

“The show will go on,” Pendragon assured him. “I shall even open with the impressive Chinese Casket Illusion. The only difference being that instead of Vampirella, Miss Nordling of your hat-checking concession will come forth.”

LeBeck shrugged unhappily. “She is far from stunning, is this Nordling girl.”

“In the dreadful lighting you provide no one will be able to tell.” He eyed his Scotch. “And now, sir, I must prepare for the first—”

“There is one further problem,” said the manager. “The police are here.”

“Fine, see they get good seats and warn them not to whistle too loudly or stomp their—”

“No, no, Monsieur Pendragon. It is one police only. It is Inspector Gaboriau, he wishes to talk with you. I have agreed to postpone your first appearance one half-hour.”

“I doubt the more demonstrative Great Pendragon fans will stand for it,” said Pendragon. “And why does this inspector wish to speak to me anyway?”

“It is not you I came to see.” Inspector Gaboriau, unlit pipe between his teeth, stepped into the dressing room. “It is Vampirella I am seeking.”

LeBeck bowed, backing out. “I will leave you.”

Pendragon picked up his glass, set it down. “I’ll be frank with you, inspector. I don’t exactly know where Vampirella is. You don’t have reason to suspect—”

“Eh? You believe she is missing?”

“Not exactly, no. But when you presented yourself, I feared perhaps the police knew something I didn’t.”

Gaboriau seated himself in the small room’s only other chair. “I came here in hope of talking to Vampirella,” he said, tapping the stem of the pipe against his knuckles. “When LeBeck informed me she was not here, I asked to see you. Where is she?”

The magician took the glass up, gulped half of its contents. After running his tongue over his lips, he said, “It’s nothing more than an affair of the heart. You know how young girls are, inspector.”

“I know several of them have been murdered in Macaco lately. Do you know precisely where Vampirella is?”

“She’s taken a fancy to a young fellow,” said Pendragon. “Perhaps you know… well, of course, you do. You must have met him at the casino the other evening. Philip Verdecken.”

“She is with him now?”

“Well, I imagine so,” said Pendragon. “Perhaps at the villa the lad is renting.”

Gaboriau thrust the pipe back in his mouth. “No one is there,” he said.

Pendragon finished his drink. “Undoubtedly they went out to dinner or to a party. Good many orgies going on at the moment, what with the film festival crowd.” He stood up, took his scarlet-lined cloak from a hook. “Why are you interested in talking to Vampirella?”

“I continue to investigate the unfortunate death of young Skeller.”

The cloak made a flapping sound as Pendragon unfurled it and threw it over his shoulders. “A routine suicide, was it not?”

“No death is routine,” replied the inspector. “Tell me, Monsieur Pendragon, you have been in many parts of the world—have you ever heard of an organization called the Cult of Chaos?”

Pendragon blinked, then frowned. “I’ve heard of it,” he admitted. “Supposed to be devil worshipers of some sort, aren’t they?”

Inspector Gaboriau said, “You and Vampirella came to Macaco merely to entertain, did you not?”

Fastening the cloak, Pendragon said, “I live but for the theater, inspector. Vampirella and I have gained quite a reputation in the far-flung corners of the globe. The great and the near-great flock to witness the miraculous—”

“In at least two other places around this globe of ours, Monsieur Pendragon, your appearance coincided with the breaking up of a branch of the Companions of Chaos.”

“Mere coincidence,” answered the magician. “And am I to understand it’s a crime to stamp out devil worshipers?”

“How long has Vampirella been with you?”

“It seems as though I’ve always—”

“A matter of months, is it not? Before that… What did the young lady do before that?”

Pendragon stroked his sharp nose. “Perhaps you have me confused, inspector, with some of the larger and more inquisitive American firms. When I hire someone, I don’t delve deeply into her past.”

Inspector Gaboriau said, “You end your show with a truly marvelous illusion, so I am told, Monsieur Pendragon. The lovely Vampirella is transformed into a monstrous black bat.” He took out his tobacco pouch, dipped the pipe bowl in. “How is that trick done?”

“The secrets of a magician, my dear inspector, are as sacred as those of a doctor or a priest,” said Pendragon, with a slight bow in the policeman’s direction. “I regret that only I, the Great Pendragon, can know exactly how that far-famed illusion is accomplished.”

“A most unusual one, I believe,” remarked Gaboriau “Not performed by any other magician, is it?”

“The trick is unique with me, yes.”

“Since Vampirella is not here this evening, you will use another young lady in your act,” said the inspector. “I assume your show will conclude with the same illusion, the bat transformation.”

“Indeed it will not,” said the magician. “The trick takes considerable preparation on the part of any young lady who attempts it. There is no time to school the capable Miss Nordling. In addition, the trick is so much associated with Vampirella that I am reluctant to allow any other lass to do it.”

Inspector Gaboriau stood. “When Vampirella returns, you will do me a favor by telling her to contact me, M. Pendragon.”

“You have my word. And the word of a Pendragon is as good as gold (although considering the state of the gold market these days that may not be enough for you).”

“Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.” Gaboriau took hold of the door knob.

“Since you’re so curious about the act, inspector, why not stay and watch it tonight?”

“I prefer to wait until Vampirella returns,” said the inspector, and left.

Chapter 13

He broke his promise.

Adam had been at the back of the Cabaret Chinois when Pendragon appeared on stage to do his final show of the evening. He’d smiled in anticipation when the Chinese casket opened and a girl stepped forth. Vampirella! But it wasn’t.

So now in the chill, misty moments after midnight Adam Van Helsing was going to Verdecken’s rented Villa on the Rue Baignoire to find out what was going on.

There was #72, surrounded by trees and a stone wall. Adam didn’t intend to skulk, he would walk right up to the front door. The iron gates stood half open. The grounds beyond were silent in the fog.

Adam crossed onto the gravel path which twisted up to the wide marble steps of the house. “Not a light on,” he said to himself.

The huge house loomed up in the mist, a great black hulk crouched among the trees. No light or glimmer relieved the absolute blackness.

Adam climbed the marble steps. He grasped the lion-head knocker and gave the oaken door several sturdy whacks.

They echoed inside, then faded.

Adam knocked again.

After waiting through a silent minute, Adam took hold of the brass door knob and turned it. The heavy door opened. Adam crossed the threshold.

“I haven’t done anything like this since high school,” he was thinking. “Going out hunting after a girl who stood me up.” He stood in the long hallway and listened. “No, but this is more than jealousy. I don’t have Dad’s extrasensory gift, but I have a damn strong feeling that something is wrong.”

He sniffed at the darkness which pressed around him. Vampirella had been here, that was certain. The sweet, musky scent that he associated only with her still lingered.

Very carefully, Adam made his way along the hallway. When he had covered several yards, he drew a pencil flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on. There was a thick Oriental carpet underfoot; the walls were bare, although you could see the rectangles where paintings once had hung.

“Might as well have a look upstairs first,” he decided. “I’ll feel fairly silly if I find them both in bed… but I don’t think I will.”

He followed the thin line of light up the curving staircase to the second floor of the villa. The place had a long-empty feel to it, as though no one had lived there for years. The first two rooms Adam probed with his flash beam had all their furniture shrouded. In the third room he encountered the familiar scent again. Vampirella had been in here.

“Damn it,” he said while he beamed the light on the wide four-poster bed. The covers were tossed aside, sheets rumpled.

Mouth set in a grimace, he circled the room slowly. Vampirella had definitely been here, here with Verdecken. Adam could, however, find no clue as to where the raven-haired girl might have gone.

He checked out the closets. They held nothing except a few forlorn metal hangers. “Verdecken must travel light.”

A board in the hall outside creaked. Adam dropped to his knees, half turning.

A large man went hurtling by. “Jesus, missed,” he grunted.

Adam sprang to his feet, facing the man.

After colliding with an armchair the large man recovered his balance. In his thick right hand he clutched a hammer. “Get you this time, bastard,” he warned.

Clicking the light off and dropping it in his pocket, Adam threw himself to the left.

The large man charged him, missed him again. “Bastard,” he reiterated.

Adam could make out the staggering form of his attacker now. He dived at him.

The large man’s knees folded up when Adam hit him. He knelt with two echoing thumps on the slick floor.

Adam flat-handed him in the small of the back.

A glass ashtray hopped off a bedside table and banged the floor as the large man’s chin slammed the planks. He spit out blood, then words. “Fix you, bastard!”

Adam landed on him before he could rise, flattened him out, and forced his bloody chin to smack the floor again.

The large man groaned, groggy.

Adam pulled one of his arms up, hard, behind his back. “Now tell me where—”

“How long’s it take to deck one guy?”

The inquiry came from the dark of the hallway. A hazy circle of light blossomed out there.

Adam rolled off the large man’s back, headed for the wall nearest the doorway.

He was nearly there when the light caught him.

“Stop where you’re at,” suggested the burred voice from the black hall.

The large man groaned once more, his feet scuffling on the floor. “Kill the bastard now.”

“Not yet,” said the voice behind the floating light.

The large man sucked in air, spit blood on the tangled sheets of the bed. “You won’t go out easy,” he promised. With a barking snarl he jumped and hit Adam above the kidneys with the handle of his hammer. “Bastard!”

Adam yowled, doubled over, and toppled into the wall. He pushed off it with considerable force and bowled the large man over.

They both landed against the four-poster.

The bed made a sponging sound, rolled across the floor, knocking aside a floor lamp and a light-wood chair.

Adam grabbed the hammer and snapped it through the darkness at the flashlight in the hall.

The plastic lens didn’t break but the light was slapped from the other man’s hand.

Ducking low, Adam headed straight for the doorway.

The large man came galloping close behind, close enough to hook one of his ankles and flip him over.

Adam hit the floor with the left side of his body and for several seconds the room seemed full of dancing rings of light. He got to his feet with great ease, then realized it was because two rough hands had helped him to rise.

“That’ll be enough acrobatics,” cautioned the burred voice. “I’ve lost my light, but not my gun.” The barrel dug into Adam’s side.

“Do you have the girl?” Adam asked into the darkness.

“We’re not here to play a game of guessing. You’ll come along with us.”

They were all out in the corridor. The gun still pressed hard into Adam’s side, the large man behind him muttering and panting.

“Will you take me to where you’ve got her?”

The gun poked harder. “The stairs are coming up shortly. We wouldn’t want you to take a fall, so walk careful.”

“I’d like him to fall,” said the large man. “I’d like to help the bastard break his goddamn back.”

“Plenty of time, plenty of time,” said the burred voice.

They were halfway down the stairs when the three huge flowers of flame blossomed in the darkness. One, blazing gold, appeared directly over their heads, another, a brilliant scarlet, spurted up near the door of the bedroom and the third, a dazzling green, throbbed at the foot of the staircase.

“This is the police!” boomed an ominous voice. “You are all under arrest! Please throw down your weapons.”

The burred voice belonged, Adam saw in the light of the fireworks, to a thickset, redhaired, and much-freckled man.

“Damned if I will,” the redheaded man yelled, firing his .38 revolver at the lowest spurt of fireworks. He went three steps further down and was suddenly flipped off his feet. His gun pinwheeled away into the blackness.

The large man pivoted, went pounding back up the stairs.

“Watch out for the wire, Adam,” warned a voice.

“Pendragon?”

“It’s not the Bicentennial Committee,” replied the magician, who sounded as though he were down in the hallway somewhere. “Don’t let the fireworks fool you.”

“Grab our redhaired buddy, I’m going after the big lunk.”

But the lunk had fled. The window of the bedroom was open, twists of fog swirling in.

Carefully Adam made his way downstairs. “Pendragon?”

“Here, me boy.” Lights came on in the halls, a large chandelier lit up. The magician, wrapped in his plaid cloak, stood near the foot of the stairs. There was no sign of anyone else.

“Where’s the other guy?”

“Alas, he has eluded me. The lad must know another way out of this establishment.”

The last of the fireworks had fizzled out and fallen to the floor, leaving an after-the-barbeque smell to the air. “Christ, they knew where Vampirella was,” said Adam, joining the magician on the ground floor of the villa. “I don’t even know who they’re working for.”

“Might I hazard a guess?” Pendragon rubbed his hands together, wiping soot off them. “I fear, my boy, we are once again dealing with the Cult of Chaos.”

“You got any evidence of that?”

“Not I, no, but a gentleman of the law named Inspector Gaboriau seems to,” said Pendragon. “He paid me a visit earlier this evening. When he mentioned the Cult I feigned ignorance (a difficult thing for a man of my obvious brilliance to do), but the notion we might be dealing with the Companions of Chaos gnawed at me mind. So much so that during the second show this evening I pulled the doves out of the wrong hat.”

“I noticed,” said Adam. “So that’s why you came here?”

“The villa seemed a logical starting place, yes,” said Pendragon. “I know I’d advised you not to come barging in here, but—”

“Kept me from being knocked off by those two goons,” said Adam. “That was very impressive, with the fireworks.”

“I make it a practice to carry a supply of fireworks with me at all times. The sepulchral voice was especially nice, don’t you think?”

“If I wasn’t certain the Macaco police didn’t go in for Roman candles, I would have been convinced it was the law coming to my rescue.”

“Those weren’t Roman candles, Adam, they—”

“From what those two, or rather the redheaded One said, they do have Vampirella.”

“Let us not forget that the girl is highly capable of extricating herself from predicaments,” said Pendragon.

“Yeah, I know that, but still…”

“I agree, one can’t help worrying.” Pendragon walked to the front door. “Did you get a chance to search the premises before those thugs set upon you?”

“I went over the upstairs pretty well. No clue as to where Vampirella was. She was here, though. With Verdecken. The bedroom shows that much.”

“Careful not to get brooding over this, Adam. Look what brooding did to a basically nice chap like Othello.” said Pendragon. “I’d barely insinuated myself through the front door when I heard sounds of your encounter wafting down from on high. Thus I haven’t given the first floor a good going-over either.”

“Okay, we’ll look around,” said Adam, “but I don’t think we’ll find anything.”

They didn’t.

Chapter 14

“You never heard of the Macaco World Exposition of 1898?”

“No,” said Zona Beyer. The slender blonde actress, a lynx cape draped casually over her bare tan shoulders, was standing with one narrow buttock pressed against the maw of a fierce stone lion.

Off in the swirling night fog a rock band was thumping and throbbing, unseen. The two hundred or more guests at Seymour Zull’s party appeared and disappeared in the whiteness of the immense misty courtyard of the exposition grounds.

“I thought just everyone had heard of the Macaco World Exposition of 1898,” said the Finnish costume designer who was chatting with Zona. “A delightful idea of Zull’s to arrange with Prince Bavier to hold his party here on the site. Most of it, as you can see, still stands and is in remarkable shape, all things considered. A triumph, and at the same time a monument to art nouveau. In those distant days Macaco was ruled by Prince Jambon, and the graphic and decorative arts flourished in this little land. Ah, to have been alive then!”

“Weren’t you?”

The costume designer lifted his dark glasses to stare at her with his pink eyes. He laughed, a little. “A sample of your celebrated wit, eh, Miss Beyer?”

“You guessed it. I think I see someone I simply have to talk to over there. Excuse me, Mr…”

“Klaus. No mister. Merely one name. Klaus. Costumes by Klaus. You’ve no doubt seen it in the credits of many of Bjorsen’s finest films, such as Anguish and—”

“Undoubtedly. ‘Bye.” Zona moved swiftly away from him, allowing the heavy night mist to swallow him up. “Jesus, this is the dullest Macaco party yet. Why Marty thinks we have to play up to that revolting Zull… Jesus.”

Through the fog a domed building showed on her right, all curving panels of tinted glass and swirls of green-stained metal. A twenty-foot-high stone woman stood at the building entrance, one hand to her brow.

Kim Eels materialized out of the fog. “Did I see you and Mario Dameon frolicking behind the Pavillion of Culture?”

“I haven’t frolicked with anybody at this thing, Kim.” Zona walked on. For a moment she caught sight of the band writhing and agonizing and seemingly floating up in the foggy night.

Zona halted when she reached a dry fountain. Several Chinese Kung Fu actors were sitting around its rim, drinking martinis and trying to flip the empty glasses into the open mouth of the stone dolphin at the apex.

One of the actors grinned at her. “We met in Los Angeles, Miss Beyer,” he said. “I’m Jerry Lee.”

Zona turned a blank face to him. “Did we?”

“I was the second lead in Bloody Fingers.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Nice to meet you again.” She resumed her walking.

“There you are.” A lopsided man with a drooping moustache stepped out of the fog to take her by the arm.

“This is a dumb party,” Zona told him. “Really, Marty. I want to go home.”

“Zull wants to talk to you,” said her agent. “Listen, he sees you as—”

“I want to go home to the hotel, Marty. I don’t want to talk to that gross Zull and have him try to pinch my ass. I’m hot now, let him come to us.”

Marty glanced anxiously around. “Don’t go calling Zull names. No telling who’s lurking in this fog. I thought I saw Jimmy Fidler behind a stone elephant a minute ago.”

Zona gave one very big shrug, shook out of her agent’s grip. “Tell that groper, Zull, to send me a script.” She left him standing there.

Zona walked rapidly, high heels clicking on the flagstones, to the parking area. She stood on the gravel, straining to see through the fog. “Where did I leave that stinking car?”

“Assist you, Miss Beyer?” A smiling young man in a scarlet jacket was approaching her.

“I’d like my car.”

“Gray Mercedes, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I can’t see it.”

“I believe I parked it for you, Miss Beyer,” said the smiling attendant. “I believe if you follow me, it will be easier to get out. Or I could drive it around back here to—”

“No, I’ll tag along. I want to get away from this thing as soon as I can.”

He began walking through the maze of misted cars. “No excitement in it for you anymore?”

“Not much, no.”

The attendant shook his head. “I love it,” he said. “The aura of show business people is fantastic.”

“That’s because you’re not in it.”

“I will be.”

He reached out and a car door materialized. “Here’s your Mercedes, Miss Beyer. Back up right this way, then turn left at the road. Left, remember, because the road sort of twists and people think—”

“Yes, yes, thanks.” She eased the car back, weaved carefully through the other machines to the road. She turned right.

You could see the road and the brush immediately beyond and nothing else. She drove in a pocket in the fog, anything more than twenty feet ahead of her masked by the fog.

A swoop of wind lifted the fog on her left for an instant and she saw a gnarled tree, leafless, at the roadside.

Then the mist closed in, even tighter.

After a few minutes. “What did that parking lot boy say? Left out of the lot. That’s what I did, so I’m okay. Except this doesn’t feel like civilization I’m approaching.”

Zona slowed the car soon thereafter. She hunched in the driver’s seat, trying to spot something that looked familiar.

“This can’t be the right direction,” she decided. “So let’s look for a place to turn around. Jesus, I’d rather have smog than this stuff.”

Fog went spinning away on her right and Zona noticed a side road. She swung the purring Mercedes off the main road and onto the rocky smaller roadway. The car bounced, shimmied, and then lurched sharply to the left.

It stopped, making a grinding noise.

“Now what?” Zona pressed hard on the gas pedal.

The Mercedes whined and sputtered, spitting gravel. But it wouldn’t move.

Rocking in her seat, the blonde actress floored the gas. “Come on, come! Let’s move it!”

The car would not budge.

Zona snapped the ignition off. “This is not my night. I should have stayed at the party and frolicked with Mario what’s-his-name.”

When she stepped out of the car the mist pressed in on her, chill and prickly, brushing at her bare legs. One slender hand trailing along the chassis of the silent gray car, she made her way up to the front of it. She bent and squinted at the right front wheel. The wheel had gone into a deep, sandy rut off the edge of the road.

Straightening, putting her hands on her hips, Zona glanced around her. She had no idea how to get the car rolling again. “I wonder where the nearest AAA garage is.”

She went back to the driver’s side, reached in and pulled the key out. Zona had the impression she’d driven several miles from the party site, that sprawling old exposition ground. But she had no phone in her car, because when you did somebody was always calling you to talk business. So it was either camp here for the night, wherever here was, or trek back down to the party.

Zona was debating the question when she heard the rustling.

Off there somewhere. Something approaching across dry leaves. Possibly there was a wooded area beyond the road, you couldn’t tell because of the heavy fog. A forest would have animals in it, not necessarily unfriendly.

Zona swallowed. Slowly she eased back into the car. She locked her door, stretched across and locked the other one. “I don’t think they have wild animals in Macaco. Do they?”

She turned on the stereo player, turned it off. She wanted to hear what was happening out there in the fog.

Being alone, even in the dark, had never much scared her. She’d been alone so often as a kid, she got used to it. But yet…

Even with the windows rolled tight shut, she could hear the sound of something approaching her, something large. Zona rubbed at the steamed window with the heel of her hand. Nothing to see.

“Oh, Jesus!”

It was a man… almost. It walked like a man… almost.

Zona tried to remember what she’d done with the key. Not in her purse. “Right here in your handkerchief, stupid.” She jammed the key in the ignition hole, turned on the engine. The motor hummed alive.

Right outside the car the creature stopped. Instead of a human head there was a face that was all snout, and snarling teeth and matted fur. It wore clothes, a tattered shirt and a pair of faded trousers. There were no hands, only hairy paws with spiky yellow nails.

The Mercedes whined, but moved not at all.

The creature pressed a paw against Zona’s window.

She tried not to look at it, but she kept turning to stare at it. All the while urging the car to move, to take her anywhere.

Saliva oozed from the creature’s cracked bluish lips, splattered on the window glass which separated it from the girl.

“Go away,” she began to yell. “Go away, goddamn it! Go away, leave me alone!”

The thing made a whimpering sound, grinning at her with its misshapen yellowish teeth.

“Go away, get lost! You bastard! Leave me alone, damn it!”

The paw reared back, formed into a fist, slammed at the glass.

Zona turned the engine off, turned it back on. She rocked harder and harder in her seat. “Please, please,” she prayed to the car. “Move, get us out of this.”

The fist slammed again, again, again. And the glass cracked. Cracked into a lightning-zig-zag pattern.

Zona jumped, worked across the front seat. “Get out, go away!”

The fist kept on pounding and pounding. The shatterproof glass shattered, jagged chunks breaking away under the force of violent blows.

Back pressed now against the opposite door, Zona cried, “Get out, get out!”

The clawed hand tore the rest of the shattered window away.

The girl clutched at the handle of the glove compartment. Finally got it open. Road maps, tissues and a flashlight. She yanked the light out, spilling the maps. On her knees, she swung the metal flashlight at the snarling creature that was grabbing for the door handle on the inside of the door.

The creature growled as Zona hammered at its hand with the heavy light, but it got hold of the door and ripped it open.

The girl scurried across the pebbled leather seat, tossing the flashlight at the creature’s head. She got hold of the door handle on the other side of the car, opened the door, and tumbled out into the fog.

Instead of following her through the car, the creature scrambled over the top of the vehicle, its claws making fingernail-on-slate noises.

Zona got to her feet. The gravel of the road had scraped a bloody patch along her leg. Limping, she began to run. To run away from her car and the creature.

The mist raked at her lungs as she gasped in air. Back this way was the main road. Maybe another car would be passing by.

Zona ran.

Chapter 15

A blazing orange sun directly above, throbbing. Eating up every drop of moisture, burning the color out of the sky. The sun exploded, sending bloody fragments rocketing. And each fragment as it fell turned into a drop of blood, blood raining down.

“No!”

Vampirella awakened. She started to sit up, but the chains holding her wrists and ankles prevented that. A throbbing pain filled her head, but she couldn’t use her fingers to explore for the injury.

She was on her back. In complete darkness. A damp coldness surrounded her.

She pulled at the chains. They seemed to be moored in the rough stone altar on which she was spread-eagled.

Chained this way, she’d never been exactly certain why, limited her use of her powers. Particularly the ability to transform herself, to be a shape-changer.

An underground smell filled the dank air. This might be a room somewhere beneath the house. She’d followed Verdecken; it was the last thing she remembered. She had no idea who’d knocked her out. It couldn’t have been Philip Verdecken, but… no, she wasn’t sure of that.

“He wouldn’t have,” she told herself. “Couldn’t have.”

Not much consolation in that. Philip must know what had been done to her, must know she’d been chained here. He had to put the Cult of Chaos ahead of everything. That meant absolutely everything. If it was the wish of the Companions of Chaos that she be sacrificed, and that seemed a pretty good bet, then Philip would have to go along with that.

“You sensed it all along,” Vampirella reminded herself. “And still, he’s damn attractive and… Well, I suppose Pendragon is right. I wanted to get back at Adam. Sleeping with a man like Philip, a man I know can be dangerous to me… it’s a way of hurting Adam. Hurting him for sticking with his father, for helping that blind old man who still, I know, would like to see me dead. Unfortunately, it’s a pretty damn good way of hurting myself, too.”

Vampirella began to realize that she’d been unconscious for several hours. Yes, a long time. She had the best clock of all to tell her that. Her body. Her body which was starting to crave blood, to crave blood which would enable her to live another day.

They’d taken her coat and left her in the dress she’d been wearing. In the pocket of the coat there was a phial of the blood-substitute serum. There was no telling where the coat was. It might be here in the clammy darkness somewhere, it might be anywhere.

“Something’s got to happen soon,” she said aloud, softly. “I must have either the serum or… blood.”

Chapter 16

Zona fell again.

She’d lost her lynx cape, long since. Her abraded, bloody knees were scraped once more as she pushed herself upright with skinned, rock-pocked palms.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. The main road seemed no closer.

The creature was still coming after her. Getting nearer. Its snarls and growls louder.

Zona began to run again, hobbling. She didn’t look back. She didn’t want to see it again.

Snap!

The heel of her left shoe broke off, sending her sprawling on the foggy road.

Then nothing but silence behind her.

Getting up again didn’t seem possible. Zona started to crawl.

All at once a great roaring behind her.

The creature had crouched, waiting. Now it leaped. It landed full atop her. Hairy paws began to tear at her clothes, the bristly snout pressed into her neck.

The creature forced her over on her back on the road. Zona managed to twist off the broken shoe. She hammered it into the thing’s furry face, the broken heel tangling in the thick hair, clacking against the snaggled teeth.

To no effect. The creature kept her pinned to the ground.

Now a new sound, a screeching.

Two balls of light floating in the fog. A car door slamming.

“Zona! Zona!”

The creature jerked back and away from her.

Marty was trotting along the main road. Zona had reached it, unaware. “Who the hell—” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

With a final snarl, the thing retreated, slouched away, blended with the mist and was lost.

Zona rolled over onto her side. “Jesus,” she said over and over.

Her puffing agent knelt next to her. “What the hell happened? Who was that?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” the blonde girl said. “Take me home, Marty. Take me home.”

“Okay, okay.” He helped her up. “Where’s the car?”

“Stuck off there someplace,” she said. “Leave it now, take me home.”

“Sure, okay.” He put an arm carefully around her waist, guided her through the swirling fog to his Toyota.

“I came the wrong way, turned the wrong way. Car got stuck somehow. Then that—Take me home.”

He arranged her in the passenger seat, gingerly strapped her in. “Yeah, I know. The kid at the parking area told me he thought you’d come the wrong way when I came out looking for you.”

“Took you a long time to find me, huh?”

“What do you mean? I wasn’t more than five minutes behind you all the time,” said Marty as he got behind the wheel to start the car.

“Well, how long is it since I left the party?”

“Not more than fifteen minutes.”

“Jesus,” said Zona, slumping in the chair. “It seemed… a lot longer.”

“I appreciate your calling me so quickly.” Inspector Gaboriau sat near the enormous picture window of Zona Beyer’s hotel suite living room. The time was nearly 5 A.M.

“That was partly my idea,” said Marty, pacing by the wall bar.

Zona was sitting on the low sofa with her slim legs up. Dressed now in a silk robe of Chinese pattern, her knees and elbows bandaged. “Who could get to sleep anyway?” she said.

“You ought to take those pills Dr. Mandell gave you, Zona,” urged Marty.

“Sleeping pills give me nightmares.”

“You may have possibly heard of the series of murders which have taken place in Macaco in the past few months,” said the police inspector.

Marty suddenly sat down in a wing chair. “Christ, you mean that’s what got hold of Zona? The human beast or whatever they call it.”

“I am of the opinion we are dealing with a werewolf,” said Gaboriau.

The agent blinked. “Come on, you don’t really think—”

“Shut up, Marty,” suggested Zona. She watched the Inspector for several quiet seconds. “I never much believed in anything like that, didn’t think werewolves existed outside of Seymour Zull movies. Until tonight.”

Inspector Gaboriau put his unlit pipe in his mouth. “I’ve sent my men already to the spot where you had your encounter, Miss Beyer. If you could now tell me—”

“I hope one of them finds my cape. It isn’t even all paid for is it, Marty?”

“It’s paid for, and insured. Don’t worry, Zona.”

Gaboriau asked, “You realize, and I don’t wish to unsettle you, Miss Beyer, you are the only person who has seen this beast and survived. Can you tell me what he looked like? Give me specific details?”

The actress nodded. “Oh, yeah, I can still see him damn clear in my mind,” she said. “I can tell you exactly what he was like.”

Chapter 17

Verdecken watched the dawn spreading outside the windows of the abandoned villa. “That’s not going to happen,” he insisted.

Janey Prudens, legs crossed, was sitting in a striped chair near the empty fireplace. The two of them were alone in the room. “It has to, Philip,” she said.

“No!” He spun around. “I don’t care what the rest of the Companions of Chaos say. Vampirella will not be sacrificed.”

“You’re forgetting the pact you made with Chaos,” reminded the auburn-haired girl. “Sacrifices must be made to Chaos and his Seven Servants. Otherwise, What you’ve been given may be withdrawn. I’d hate to see you become a hundred and some years old, dear Philip.”

“I’ve provided more than enough sacrifices,” Verdecken said. “I’ve watched enough people have the life stabbed out of them on one of Chaos’ bloody altars. It will not happen to Vampirella!”

“You made a little mistake,” said Janey, recrossing legs. “You got much too interested in the girl. Not wise.” She smiled at him. “Does any of this sound familiar?”

Verdecken slowly crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said, lips drawn taut. “I told you you were wrong to fall in love with Tommy Skeller. This isn’t the same sort of sit—”

“Oh, no, it’s different! Different because it’s happening to Philip Verdecken and not Janey Prudens. Handsome, charming Philip Verdecken, man of the world, dashing gambler. The man who always gets exactly what he wants.” She stood up. “You have had what you wanted out of life, out of your very long life, Philip, because you’ve made a bargain with Cbaos. Once again, it’s time to pay your dues.”

Verdecken said, “I’ll never let them hurt her.”

“I’m not the one to ask for sympathy,” she said. “Not you, Philip. You made me stand there on that casino terrace while you put a bullet in poor Tommy’s head and you made me pretend he’d killed himself because of that sleazy Munks. Well, now I’m going to stand by that sacrificial altar down below and when they sink the knife into Vampirella’s heart, Philip, I’m not going to be watching her writhing in death. No, I’m going to watch your face.”

His hand snapped out and slapped her across the cheek. “Little bitch!”

Janey laughed. “We’re none of us worth much, Philip.”

The door of the room opened. “No way to start the day,” said Prince Bavier. He was carrying a vase of his favorite scarlet carnations, and was dressed in a fresh white suit and crimson tie. His face was unusually puffy, his eyes red-rimmed. Setting the vase on a table he invited, “You can take a flower for your buttonhole, Philip. I know you like them.”

“Not now.” Philip crossed to him. “The sacrifice of Vampirella is not to take place.”

While he selected a flower for himself the Prince said, “Things have been going very badly, Philip. I feel Chaos is not satisfied. We have promised him the sacrifice. It will be made.”

“Let it be someone else, then,” said Verdecken. “The city is full of pretty girls now, pouring in for the film festival. I’ll provide one, more than one if need be.”

Prince Bavier slipped the stem of the carnation through his buttonhole. “Don’t be naïve,” he said.

“It is this girl who must be sacrificed. Vampirella! She’s done great harm to the Cult of Chaos around the world. Chaos will be highly pleased with such a sacrifice.” He touched Verdecken’s arm. “Surely you are as aware as anyone of how important the proper sacrifice is, Philip. Your very existence depends on it. Now, I don’t want to have any further arguing.”

Verdecken yanked free of him. “All right,” he said. He stalked out of the room.

It was getting worse.

Vampirella gritted her teeth. She twisted and turned her long, lithe body on the stone altar. Her breasts thrust up, stabbing at the darkness.

Teeth gritting, she pulled at the chains that held her.

To no avail. She made the rough spots she’d worn in her wrists and ankles more raw, but the chains held.

She ran her tongue again over her dry, cracking lips.

Vampirella had to have blood. Have it soon or she would perish. There was no way around it.

She had to have it.

Everything was tinged by her need. Her thoughts of escape kept being pushed from her mind by visions of blood.

She had to have it.

Chapter 18

Van Helsing was at breakfast on the terrace of the hotel restaurant, his blind eyes turned toward the azure sea. He reached down for the second croissant on his plate. “Not sleeping, not eating, Adam,” he said to his son.

Opposite his father, Adam said, “Doesn’t seem important. I’ve got to find Vampirella.”

“Locating Verdecken would help,” said Van Helsing. “You’ve had no luck there?”

“Nope, and I’ve been tracking down leads all night. He’s apparently abandoned the villa he was renting, but there’s nothing to indicate where he’s gone.”

“Perhaps the police can—”

“Hey, that reminds me,” cut in Adam. “I’m sorry, Dad, I’m afraid I haven’t been much thinking about the case we’re supposed to be working on. I talked to Inspector Gaboriau, and he tells me the werewolf attacked another girl last night. This time, though, she got away and she’s been able to give him quite a bit of information as to what the thing looks like, and so on. Gaboriau is certain now it’s a lycanthrope.”

“There was never any doubt of that,” said the blind man. “I’d like to talk to the girl.”

“The inspector can probably arrange that for you,” said Adam. “Although she’s somewhat difficult to get to usually. It’s Zona Beyer.”

Wrinkles formed above Van Helsing’s black glasses. “Who?”

“Movie actress, very famous right now,” explained Adam. “Here for the festival.”

“I’m afraid I’m out of touch with that sort of thing.” The old man picked up his coffee cup. “Though I suppose I ought— Ah!” The cup dropped from his hand, hit the table top, and flipped over to shatter on the stones of the terrace.

Adam was up and around the table to the old man’s side. “Dad, what is it?”

“Sit down, Adam,” said Van Helsing. “I… I’ve merely had… one of my… extrasensory glimpses.” He swayed back in the chair, relaxing from the stiffening which had seized him.

Adam went back to his chair. “What did you see?”

“The force… of these… visions… Sometimes it’s quite… overwhelming.”

“The old gentleman is ill?” The waiter, a gaunt man with a fuzzy moustache and no hair on his head, had hurried over. “Or perhaps there’s something wrong with the coffee?” Grunting, he squatted and hand-swept the fragments of cup into a large stiff white napkin.

“A very small accident,” Adam told him. “Sorry.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” The waiter straightened. “With all the cinema people here, it is difficult to tell exactly what’s happening. Sometimes they fling the dishware at one.” He made a small bow, withdrew.

“What did you see?” Adam repeated.

Van Helsing pressed his fingers to the frame of his dark glasses. “They have her,” he said. “I saw her, chained to a stone altar.”

“Vampirella?”

Van Helsing nodded, saying, “Yes. The Cult of Chaos has her and… they intend to sacrifice her. Tonight.”

“Where is she?”

Van Helsing placed his gnarled hands flat on the table, pressed down hard. His thin lips shut tight, his head tilted far back. “A villa…”

“The one Verdecken is renting?”

“I think not… not the same… no… This is a place that has been long unused, unlived in… It is on… on the Rue Savon… Yes, number fifty-six Rue Savon.”

Adam rose up. “I’ll go there.”

“Yes,” said Van Helsing.

Pendragon hunched in a dim corner of the café, his hands circling a glass of brandy. “Mayhap I ought to switch to orange juice, this stuff isn’t exhibiting any of its pick-me-up qualities,” he said to himself.

“Mr. Pendragon!”

The magician glanced up to see Kim Eels making her way through the late breakfast crowd to his table. “Ah, yes, the fabulous Miss Eels. I’m afraid I don’t have any juicy bits of scandal for—”

“You look dreadful, if you don’t mind my saying so.” She dropped into the chair next to his. “You look as though you’ve been up all night.”

“An illusion caused, Miss Eels, by my staying up all night.”

“Then it’s true?”

“Which?”

“I hear your partner, Vampirella, has run away with the charming Philip Verdecken,” said the columnist.

“What else do you hear, my dear lady?”

“I’ve come to you, to the horse’s mouth as it were, to get the facts. Unlike some of my colleagues, I check all my stories out very carefully.”

“Perhaps if you tell me what you’ve heard, I can tell you whether it’s true or not.”

Kim Eels said, “All I’ve heard is that Vampirella dropped out of your act and joined Verdecken.”

“Joined him where? What does rumor say on that subject?”

“Not at his villa,” said Kim Eels. “I had one of my legmen check that place out.” She tilted her head slightly to the left, narrowed her left eye. “You don’t know much more than I do, do you? Vampirella’s left you as much up in the air as—”

“I regret, Miss Eels, that the Code of the Pendragons forbids my giving away any secrets,” the magician told her. “Unlike some of my colleagues, I never— Ah, Adam!”

Adam was standing at the table, an impatient look on his face. “You better come along with me, Pendragon,” he said.

Pendragon stood up. “This is the famed gossip columnist, Kim Eels,” he said quickly. “Thank you so much for brightening my otherwise drear and lonely morning repast, Miss Eels. Now I must be up and doing.”

Kim Eels caught hold of Adam’s sleeve. “Who are you? Not the new Norwegian Seymour Zull’s signed for Hamlet: II?”

“Don’t think so,” said Adam, pulling free. “But then I haven’t checked my mail for a couple of days. Nice meeting you, Miss Meels.”

“Eels,” she called after them. “Kim Eels.”

Out on the bright sidewalk Pendragon asked, “You’ve found out something about Vampirella?”

“Yeah.”

“Good or bad?”

“That depends on us,” said Adam.

Chapter 19

Verdecken waited and listened in the dark stretch of hallway. The ancient villa was silent. There were no other members of the Cult of Chaos in the house now, he was fairly certain of that.

Verdecken waited a moment more, then started down the hall and into the room which concealed one of the entrances to the underground caverns under the old villa. The heavy draperies on the long, tall windows kept most of the midday sunlight out. Specks of dust quivered in the narrow ribbons of light that did make it inside the room.

Verdecken crossed to the wrought iron wall lamp and reached up. He twisted the base and a wall panel popped open inward.

“These aren’t visitors’ hours, Phil dear.”

Verdecken looked back.

Janey Prudens stood between two slanting stripes of dusty sunlight. Hands folded behind her back, smiling. “If you have any notion of helping Vampirella, you’d better—”

“I’m going to get her out of here. She won’t be sacrif—”

“Think of what that will mean to you.”

He shook his head, started to step through the wall. “I’ve no time to argue with—”

“I’m not going to let you.” She sprang for him, took hold of his arm. “Chaos and his Seven Servants must not be thwarted, or—”

“Let go.” Verdecken swung his fist, struck the girl full in the face.

Janey groaned.

He hit her again, much harder.

She fell to the floor.

Verdecken left her sprawled there and hurried down the stone stairs which led below.

Vampirella lay very still on the stone altar. Her body seemed to be burning up, blazing with heat. Her lips were dry, cracked. Her breasts rose and fell in a broken rhythm. There had to be some way out of this, some way to get blood. Without blood…

All at once a light appeared far across the darkness. Small, glowing.

After so much darkness it hurt Vampirella to stare at it, but she forced herself to.

The light floated higher, there was a crisp sputtering. Then a second light blossomed in the black of the cavern. Followed by another.

Someone was lighting the wall torches.

Perhaps that meant it was time for the sacrifice. Vampirella wasn’t certain anymore of the time, whether it was day or night.

“It’s all right,” a voice said nearby. “I’ve come to take you out of here.”

Verdecken stood beside the stone altar, a torch in his hand. It made harsh shadows across his face.

“Philip, you…” Vampirella let the words trail away.

“There wasn’t anything else I could do,” he said as he set about unlocking the chains which held her to the altar. “I didn’t know you would follow me here. When they—”

“My coat,” she said, her voice almost a croak. “Do you know where it is?”

He removed the manacles from her bruised and bloody wrists. “What?”

“The coat, the coat I was wearing. In the pocket… the blood-substitute serum… I have to have it, Philip.”

He looked around, hurriedly, once. “I… I don’t know what they did with it, Vampirella. The important thing now is to get you away from here. There’s not much time.”

“If I don’t get the serum, then—”

“What you doing, you bastard?” A large man was standing below one of the blazing wall torches. He thrust a hand under his jacket, brought it out with a .45 in it. “Nobody’s supposed to mess with her.”

“The plans have been changed,” Verdecken said. “You don’t have to worry, Oscar. Prince Bavier wants her.”

“The hell,” said the large Oscar, lumbering closer to them. “My orders is to stop anybody from touching her. Includes you, Verdecken.”

The last of the chains fell away. Vampirella was free. She sat up, rubbing at her ankles.

“I’m taking this girl out of here, Oscar. You’re not going to stop me.”

“I am, bastard. I’m going to scrag you where you are, if you don’t get away from her.” He raised the gun, aimed it at Verdecken.

Vampirella stood up. “You won’t shoot anyone,” she said.

Distracted, Oscar stared at the supple girl. His mouth gaped, his breathing grew raspy.

She was changing, her body shimmering there in the torchlight. And then she was gone. Circling the cold stone altar was a huge black bat.

“Holy Christ!” exclaimed Oscar. It was the last thing he ever said.

With a whistling scream the bat dived through the air straight at the gunman.

Oscar tried to bring his gun around to fire.

The hurtling bat hit him with tremendous force. Its sharp teeth dug into his throat. Blood spurted out.

Oscar screamed now, too. He clubbed at the huge bat with his gun.

The bat held on, teeth sunk deep into his flesh, drinking of his blood. Suddenly his gun hand went limp, swung down to his side. His legs lost all their power and gave way. He hit on one knee, then the other. Swayed in that kneeling position as the bat drank the life out of him. He fell forward, flat out on his face.

The bat kept drinking.

From the other side of the cave, in a dark alcove beyond the altar Vampirella had left, a low rumbling was starting.

The stunned Verdecken now found speech. “Vampirella, we have to get out of here!”

She was there again in the cavern. Standing over the body of the gunman, wiping a hand across her mouth. The hand came away bloody. “Stay away from me, Philip,” she said in a strange voice. “For a minute anyway.”

The rumbling grew louder.

“Chaos,” said Verdecken. “Chaos and his demon servants. I’m afraid… they… they may materialize … to keep me from taking you.” He ran to her.

Vampirella let him take her hand and lead her to an exitway.

The rocky ground was shaking beneath them.

They ran along a stone corridor and up a rough-hewn stairway.

“We’ll make it,” Verdecken told her. “We’ll make it. We’ll get free and clear.”

He was wrong.

Chapter 20

Pendragon absently thrust his hand into a pocket of his cape and brought out a bouquet of yellow roses. “Not wanted on voyage,” he muttered, flinging the bouquet up into the afternoon. The flowers disappeared a few feet above his head. “How much further, Adam?”

Adam guided their car over to the curb and parked in front of a white, green-shuttered house. “The place we want is about a quarter of a mile up ahead, over the next hill,” he said. “Be best to approach the villa on foot from here.”

“You’ve had a good deal more experience with your father’s hunches than I have.” Pendragon climbed out of the car. “Is he likely to be right about this?”

“They’re a lot more than hunches, Pendragon. Dad really does have strong extrasensory powers, so—”

“Eh? What’s the meaning of this? Eh?” A plump, pink man in a blue blazer and white duck trousers emerged on the balcony directly above them. “Can’t park your machine there, you chaps. Isn’t allowed.”

“An emergency,” Adam said up to him, pocketing the car keys.

“Simply won’t do, old fellow. Don’t want automobiles cluttering my walk. No. The law strictly forbids it, too,” the plump pink man called down.

“Call the police,” Adam advised him.

“See here, my good man, do you realize you’re speaking to Vice Admiral Lewis Tichborne-Holyr?”

“This will cover our parking fees.” Pendragon reached again into his cape. He tossed a handful of gold coins, six crimson balls, and three silver rings up to the balcony.

“What? What?”

Adam and the magician hurried on.

It was the longest walk Verdecken ever had taken. Across the overgrown rear gardens of the abandoned villa. He had to hold on to Vampirella for support as they crossed the sunlit grounds. “They… aren’t going to let me… get free of them,” he said. His lips were black, pulled back from his teeth. His voice had a dry quiver to it. “They… wanted the sacrifice… and now…”

Vampirella kept him going. “We’ll get away, Philip. Once we’re clear of this place, the power of Chaos will diminish.”

His hands, gripping her bare arm, were growing more and more gnarled. “No… Chaos has power… everywhere.” Verdecken was shrinking, his back humping, his arms growing thin and dry. “I… I’ve … betrayed them… taken you from them… and now… now… they’re taking back what… they’ve given me.”

The raven-haired girl put her arm tighter around him. The rear stone wall was only yards away. Over the top of it she could see the bright sea far below. “I’ve fought them before,” she said. “And won.”

His feet dragged. One of his shoes fell off. His legs and arms were shriveling. His clothes flapped on his withered body. His head was that of a very old man, hair gray and thin. Lines crisscrossed his collapsing face, more and more each second. “It was… a gamble,” he said in a quavering voice. “I’ve usually… won… but this time… this time…”

Verdecken drifted down to his knees, unable to walk. “We can get away,” Vampirella said, but she knew there was no chance for him. She grasped his hand, to get him up again. The hand came with Vampirella, but not the rest of him.

Pendragon put out a hand to steady himself against a tree. “Is Macaco noted for its earthquakes?” he asked in a low voice.

Adam shook his head. “That’s not what’s causing those earth rumbles,” he said. “It’s something underneath this place.”

They were inside the grounds of the deserted villa, watching the vast house from among a stand of trees.

“Something supernatural, do you think?”

“Might well be,” said Adam. “And Vampirella is down there somewhere.”

“That’s odd,” remarked Pendragon suddenly. “That young lady stepping forth from the villa.”

Janey Prudens, not quite steady in her walk and with a .32 revolver in her hand, had just come out through the heavy front door.

“Know her?”

“Ah, yes, indeed. ‘Tis Miss Prudens, the great good friend of the young fellow who did himself in at the casino.” Pendragon frowned. “Why is she here, and brandishing a weapon?”

“Let’s follow her and find out.”

Running awkwardly, Janey circled around the villa.

Vampirella stood up and away from the tangled pile of clothes. All that was left of Philip Verdecken was twisted and twined within the clothes. Bones and a few patches of hair, a grinning skull.

A hundred years had caught up with him. All at once in the bright Mediterranean afternoon.

“I told him, I told him!” It was Janey, walking through the high grass, her gun pointed at Vampirella.

Hands on hips, Vampirella watched the girl approach. “So you’re in with them, too?”

“Oh, yes,” said the girl. “And now I’m going to bring you back. The sacrifice will take place tonight just as planned.”

“That boy, Tommy,” said Vampirella. “He didn’t kill himself at all.”

Janey smiled, poking at the jumble of clothes with the toe of her shoe. “Your beloved Philip and I arranged that,” she said. “Tommy was finding out things about the cult, and had the insane notion of writing an article about it for a news magazine. I was upset at first when they told me what we had to do. But, especially now after what’s happened to Philip, I realize there’s no way around it. We have to do what Chaos bids. We have to.”

“Not this time!” Adam had come up silently behind the girl. With one chopping swing of his hand, he knocked the gun out of hers.

Pendragon went to Vampirella, carefully skirting the remains of Verdecken. “My child, are you all right?”

Vampirella looked at him. Finally she said, “Yes, I’m not seriously hurt.”

The shaking of the earth had ceased. The calling of far-off sea birds floated up to them.

Janey was silent, eyes downcast.

Adam picked up her gun and stuck it in his pocket.

“I’ll see about getting the police,” he said. “Are there any more of the Companions of Chaos here?”

He’d asked Janey, but Vampirella answered. “Only one, and he’s dead,” she said.

“What happened to…” began Adam. Then he noticed the blood on Vampirella’s face and hands. “Well, we can work out something to tell Inspector Gaboriau. He’s going to be fairly pleased about finding this place.”

“Adam,” said Vampirella.

“Yeah?”

Vampirella shook her head. “We’ll talk later. I thought I could now… but…” She shrugged, tossed her head.

“Okay.” He walked away.

A faint warm wind was blowing in across the ocean. It whispered through the grass. The pile of clothes and bones fluttered and then was still.

Chapter 21

Zona Beyer yawned. “Excuse me, Mr. Van Helsing,” she said. “I still haven’t caught up on my sleep.” The actress, her agent, and the blind man sat out on the spacious balcony of her hotel suite in the late afternoon sun. “I think I read a book of yours once, about poltergeists. Wasn’t it a paperback?”

“Yes, there have been several soft-cover editions.” Van Helsing had taken a chair quite near the actress.

“Zona is always reading,” said Marty. “Especially occult things.”

“I’m curious about all sorts of subjects,” she said. “Is there any Seven-Up, Marty? I think I’d like some, rather than this martini.”

“I’ll go look. You tell Mr. Van Helsing whatever he wants to know.”

Zona said, “I really am glad to have a chance to talk to you, Mr. Van Helsing. In spite of the dopey way I’m acting. When I don’t get enough sleep I—”

“I understand, Miss Beyer,” said the old man. “Can you tell me about your encounter of last evening?”

The girl shivered. “I’ve… I’ve never had anything like that happen before,” she said. “But… I guess…Well, who has? There aren’t that many werewolves roaming around.”

“Tell me what happened, what you saw,” requested Van Helsing.

Zona gave him an account of her wrong-way drive into the foggy hills, of what happened to her there.

Marty returned with a frosted glass just as she finished. “Is gingerale okay?”

“Anything but gin.” The actress exchanged glasses. “Well, is there anything else you’d like to know, Mr. Van Helsing?”

The blind man put a hand over her hand. “Let me try to see if I can get any further impressions, anything you may have forgotten.”

“You want to ask more questions?” said Marty.

“No, I don’t need to ask questions. If I may sit here a moment.”

“You mean… you’re going to read my mind?”

“It’s not exactly that, Miss Beyer. But sometimes I can get impressions, see images by being near a person or an object that has been associated with some odd or occult happening.”

“That’s pretty incredible,” said Marty. “You only usually hear about such—”

The blind man’s fingers tightened over Zona’s. He bit down on his lower lip, gave a pained moan.

The actress jumped to her feet, dropping her glass of gingerale. “Mr. Van Helsing? Are you— What’s the matter?”

His gnarled fingers straightened out, relaxed. He let go of her, sank back into the canvas chair. “Forgive me, I don’t wish to frighten you,” he said. “I’m not ill, don’t worry.”

“What… what happened?” the girl asked, sitting again. “Did you see something?”

Lips slightly parted, the blind man nodded. “There are times when the visions have an unexpected force,” he said to the actress. “I have had a very strong… experience. I know who your attacker was.”

“You do? But that wasn’t in my mind—I only know he was this… creature. I have no idea who he really is.”

“The message which came through to me,” said Van Helsing, “leaves no doubt. I can’t quite explain how my perceptions work, Miss Beyer. But they always prove out.” He sat silent for almost a minute. Rising to his feet, the blind man said, “Now I must see what is to be done about this.”

“Who is it?” Marty asked.

“That will emerge soon,” said Van Helsing. “I can’t tell you just yet.”

The agent stepped nearer the old man, offering to help him through the suite to the door. “Let us know as soon as you can, huh?”

“I won’t need any help finding my way out,” the old man told him. Not waiting, he made his way inside. “Good day, Miss Beyer.”

She watched him cross the suite and let himself out into the corridor of the hotel. “Yes, good-by,” she said.

“Very spooky,” said Marty, watching the recently shut door. “I don’t think, though, that the old guy was conning us.”

Zona said, “No, he wasn’t.”

“I have a feeling,” said her agent, “that we’re going to get some terrific publicity from all this. All the wire services are going to pick it up.”

The girl rubbed the place on her wrist where Van Helsing had gripped her. “I’d like to go back home, to LA, Marty,” she said slowly. “If this doesn’t all get cleared up soon I want to go away from here.”

“Sure, sure,” Marty said.

Prince Bavier entered the music room of the palace. The piano music stopped. “You haven’t, I assume, changed your mind?”

Princess Antonia closed the piano. “Not at all,” she said, back still to him. “You must attend, though, and pass along my regrets.”

“A new Pontius Monumento film, being shown for the first time anywhere in the world,” said the prince, stopping beside a vase of carnations. “I feel we should both attend.”

The princess shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll attend the Golden Calf Awards banquet next week. That’s all.”

While adjusting the carnation he’d selected into his buttonhole, Prince Bavier said, “I should think that now we’re about to be parents, Antonia… Well, it doesn’t seem to have changed your feelings toward me.” He took a few tenative steps in her direction. “One might hope that your feelings toward the father of your expected child might be a bit more tender than they are.”

“Toward the father of my child, yes,” said Princess Antonia. She stood up.

The chubby prince blinked his eyes several times. “What… what does that mean?” he demanded. “Are you— You must be joking with me?”

“Perhaps I am.” She left him there.

Inspector Gaboriau walked the entire length of the dusty hallway of the villa. “I am,” he said to Adam, “somewhat at a loss.”

“The girl may be lying,” he suggested. He and the police inspector were alone in the deserted villa. Pendragon had escorted Vampirella back to their hotel. Before the remains of Philip Verdecken were shoveled into a basket.

Gaboriau bit down heavily on the stem of his pipe. “My instincts tell me no,” he said. “And also my experience. She is telling the truth. In fact, when I questioned her about the death of her young man some days ago, I sensed she might not be telling me the truth. Now, it’s different. She’s confessed to taking part in the death of that unfortunate young man, to being a member of this devil cult… to being the partner of a man who was apparently well over a century old.” He took the pipe from between his lips, made circles with it in the air. “These things… I can accept, with difficulty.”

Adam smiled. “The world is a much stranger place than you apparently realize, inspector,” he said.

“Strange indeed,” he agreed. “When I see a pile of old bones which I know was a living young man only hours ago.”

“My father and I have had several encounters with the Cult of Chaos before. So I suppose—”

“And all that we found down below the house,” interrupted Gaboriau. “The stone altars, the strange inscriptions on the walls… and the man, dead, with half the blood drained out of him. I can’t begin to understand some of it.”

“As I told you, the guy we found down there was no doubt someone sacrificed by the cult.”

“The Prudens girl doesn’t concur in that,” said Inspector Gaboriau. “She maintains that this Vampirella who was being held prisoner by them had something to do with the death.”

“Exactly how?”

“That the girl does not know.”

“Okay, it could be Verdecken killed him for some reason.”

Inspector Gaboriau turned, began to walk the length of the hall again. “This whole affair will have to be… edited. I can never hope to release all the facts we’ve learned today. So perhaps the death of this gunman will go unexplained.”

“Not a bad solution.”

“But that leaves me with the most pressing problem,” said the inspector. “The Prudens girl tells me that the leader of this branch of the Cult of Chaos is Prince Bavier. How am I to arrest the ruler of my country?”

“If you talk to him, confront him,” suggested Adam. “Maybe he can be persuaded to… well, step down.”

“Ah, an unlikely possibility,” said Gaboriau. “Still, I must talk to him. He is to be at a movie screening this evening, I understand. A better place than the palace to have a word with him. Public places can sometimes offer more privacy. I must try.”

“Good luck,” said Adam.

Chapter 22

Pendragon tapped his magic wand repeatedly on the edge of his dressing table. “Child, it goes against all the time-honored traditions of the theater.”

“Okay, so it does.” Vampirella had her hands behind her back, fastening the sleek black dress she was getting into.

“I hate to do the show with the less-than-agile Miss Nordling again tonight,” the magician complained.

“Take the night off and come along with me, then.”

“The Great Pendragon is noted, if for nothing else, for his steadfastness, my dear.” He dealt the table a few more good whacks with the wand. “I realize you’ve been through a considerable ordeal, Vampirella, but—”

“I am going to confront Prince Bavier,” she told him. “He’s going to be at this screening tonight, and so am I. Thanks to the tickets your skinny chum Kim Eels sent us.”

“Dear child, Inspector Gaboriau also knows the prince is involved with the Cult of Chaos, since the Prudens lass told him all,” said Pendragon. “I’m sure by now—”

“Gaboriau hasn’t done anything yet. Prince Bavier will be there tonight.”

“How can you be—”

“I know,” Vampirella said impatiently.

“Do remember, my dear, that we are in a country ruled by the prince. Perhaps it would be—”

“He allowed Philip Verdecken to be destroyed. Now he and the cult will pay.”

The magician cleared his throat, studying the tip of his wand. “I know you were fond of—”

“Infatuated is the right word.”

“So be it. Still, child, you must realize that Verdecken brought his ultimate fate on himself.”

Slowly the raven-haired girl nodded her head. “I have,” she admitted, “very mixed feelings about Philip, about what happened to him. But I am sure of this—the Cult of Chaos here in Macaco will be wiped out.”

“They tried to kill you, to sacrifice you to Chaos himself,” said Pendragon. “There’s a real danger they’ll—”

“No, they won’t hurt me again.” Vampirella grabbed her tan raincoat off a hanger. “And if Adam Van Helsing calls, tell him you have no idea where I am.”

The magician made a resigned gesture with his wandless hand. “There’s no business like show business,” he muttered as Vampirella left. “Absolutely.”

“But I’d like to,” said Zona Beyer.

Her agent was watching himself in the living-room mirror. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Marty told her.

“I get antsy.” She bounced once on the sofa. “Sitting around all day. I’d like to go to the showing of Monumento’s new flick.”

“Graverobbers of Rome? Sounds like a turkey.”

“No, all of Monumento’s films are worth seeing,” the actress said. “He’s like Bergman, Fellini, and Nolan.”

“Maybe, though, Zona, we build up more suspense about you if nobody sees you yet. They get to wondering about what happened when this monster tried to grab you,” Marty said. “I was on the phone to Zuber today, and he thinks—”

“Let him come here and plump on his kiester for a whole day,” interrupted Zona. “I’d like to go out tonight.” She bounced again before standing up. “I am, Marty. I am going.”

Her agent pulled lightly at the skin of his face. “I’m starting to age,” he decided. “Okay, go. But wear something that’ll show a little more in front.”

The water was turning black. Hands in pockets, Adam walked beside his father along an esplanade overlooking the ocean. “You’re certain?” he asked.

The blind man was carrying a black satchel. “Yes, the image was very clear,” he said. “There’s no doubt.”

“Going to add to Inspector Gaboriau’s problems.”

“I felt something like this from the moment of our first interview with Prince Bavier,” said Van Helsing as they walked along through the oncoming night. “This so-called madman, James Verrue, who confessed to being a werewolf a half-century ago—he also maintained he was connected with the royal family of Macaco.”

“He was right, huh?”

“Yes, a strain of lycanthropy has apparently run through Prince Bavier’s family for many centuries. Verrue was an illegitimate member, but he had the family taint. It’s possible his end, in the mental hospital, was hastened. To rule out the chance of his talking too much more.”

“You think Princess Antonia knows?” asked Adam. “She wouldn’t have hired us to investigate if she suspected her husband was the werewolf.”

Van Helsing’s laugh was dry, almost like a death rattle. “The princess may suspect more than you think,” he said.

Adam said, “What do you figure to do now?”

“Let events take their course.” He held the satchel up, unfastened the clasps. “I am prepared.”

His son reached into the satchel, his hand closed on an antique pistol. “It’s got silver bullets in it, huh?”

“Still the most effective way to dispatch a lycanthrope.”

“You expect to have to do that? Prince Bavier, is, after all, still the ruler of this country,” Adam said. “In some circles shooting the reigning monarch is frowned on as assassination.”

“We’ll let events take their course,” repeated the old man. “Right now, we will attend the screening of Pontius Monumento’s new film.”

“Prince Bavier’s going to be there?”

“He will be there,” answered Van Helsing.

Chapter 23

Drums, and then silence.

Echoing harpsichord music, more silence.

Wind howling across an ancient ruined graveyard.

Zull Pictures Presents

The Pontius Monumento Production of

GRAVEROBBERS OF ROME

Now three hunched, wind-whirled figures, tiny in the hillside cemetery, are starting to dig.

We begin to move closer and closer to them. By the time their shovels are scraping the coffin lid we are sharing their view of the grave hole with them…

Inspector Gaboriau got up out of his seat, went through a dim-lit side exit door in the darkened movie theater. He would not, he realized, be able to sit through the film. He was too anxious, too nervous for that. He’d wait backstage here. Putting his unlit pipe in his mouth, he moved along to a place at the side of the screen. From this position he could look out into the theater without being seen. There was the white front of Prince Bavier’s dress shirt glowing faintly in the middle of the special section of seats.

A party was to be held immediately after the showing of the film, in the greenroom. That was where Gaboriau would have to have his talk with the prince. He’d rehearsed several in his head since this afternoon. As yet, however, he hadn’t decided on exactly how to approach Prince Bavier.

“… easy with the lid, fool!”

“Much too late to harm whoever’s inside.”

“We want little noise. Hurry now, pry it up gently!”

“Mother of God! Look what’s inside!”

Vampirella could see quite well in the dark. From her aisle seat near the rear of the movie theater she located Prince Bavier. She sat very straight, hands folded.

Her eyes began to glow. “Listen to me,” she projected without a sound. “Listen to me, Prince Bavier!”

The plump prince, some fifteen rows ahead of her, shifted in his chair and tugged at his ear.

“Listen to me.” Vampirella projected the message from her brain to his. “Listen to me, Prince Bavier! The Cult of Chaos is finished here!”

Prince Bavier twisted his head, looked at the important people on either side of him. He moved in his seat again and turned to glance at those sitting immediately behind him.

“You are going to die! You are going to die, Prince Bavier!”

The words crawled into his skull, scratched across his brain. The prince put his hands to his ears.

“You helped Philip Verdecken die! Now it is your time!”

The prince stood up, looking all around the dark theater.

Murmuring began on each side of him, spread.

“Good lord! That thing has taken Mario into the coffin with it!”

“Run, fool! We must run!”

“His screams! Lord, I can not stand to hear…”

“Down in front,” Zona muttered.

“Quiet, quiet,” warned Marty beside her. “I think that’s Bavier.”

“So if the movie scares him, let him wait in the lobby.” She was on the aisle, five rows behind the prince, who was still on his feet with his hands to his ears.

Vampirella remained perfectly still. From her mind she continued to send the messages into the prince’s head. “You are finished! I shall kill you! Just as I killed your servant in the caverns!”

Prince Bavier shouted aloud now. “Who are you? Where are you?”

“Run from here! Out into the night! Run so I can follow you! So I can kill you!”

“Is that your voice, Chaos? Have I not served you well? Why are you doing this?”

“It is not Chaos! And Chaos cannot help you!”

The prince crouched lower. “I’ll fight you,” he roared. “Whoever you are, wherever you are! I’ll fight you!”

Up on the movie screen the frightened graverobbers suddenly ceased to run. The film muttered to a halt. The darkness of the domed theater gave way to light.

“Prince Bavier, what is it?” A bearded man walked down an aisle toward him.

Crouching lower, Bavier snarled. “Won’t kill me,” he growled. He was changing, thickening, altering.

Coarse hair covered his hands, his face. His face twisted, quivered. His teeth showed yellow and sharp now, below his snout. “I have power, power to kill! To kill you all!”

The palace doctor, who’d been running to the prince’s aid, stopped still. He crossed himself, backed away. “Loup-garou!” he exclaimed in a faint voice.

Prince Bavier struck out with his clawed hands, snarling.

Those who had stood up near him sat down or fell down to get out of his way.

A few rows away Zona took hold of her agent’s hand. “Marty,” she said. “Marty, that’s the werewolf.”

Marty tried to say something, but couldn’t.

Two of the exit doors eased open. Inspector Gaboriau came through one, several of his uniformed men through the other. “The police will handle this,” he announced.

The creature was stalking up the aisle of the movie theater. “Won’t take me,” he said, “won’t kill me!”

At the rear of the place Van Helsing opened his satchel and handed the pistol to his son. “Now is the time to use this,” he said.

Chapter 24

Zona Beyer didn’t scream.

The beastman had halted directly beside her, recognizing her, reaching for her.

She found her voice. “Leave me alone!”

“Chaos will have a sacrifice after all.” He seized her arm, claws scratching at the flesh.

“That’s enough.” Adam had reached them, the pistol in his hand.

Anger rumbled in the creature’s chest. He yanked Zona into the aisle and hurled her into Adam.

Adam was knocked off balance. He tried to stop his fall, but his hand missed the arm of the seat he was reaching for. He cracked his head against the wooden armrest and stumbled to the floor. The pistol, with the silver bullets in it, dropped from his grasp.

The creature whirled, fought its way to the nearest exit and hit the door hard. People scrambled, stumbled, got out of his way.

Zona bent to help Adam.

Vampirella ran by, after Prince Bavier.

His hands bleeding, the creature climbed down the rocky cliffside toward the sea. Even the thick matting of fur did not protect him from the sharp black rocks slicing him. “Have to get away now,” he panted.

The movie theater stood on a plateau high above him. A narrow strip of beach unwound another hundred feet below.

Further along, somewhere around here, there was a yacht harbor. A private yacht harbor. Not where he kept his boat, but he had friends who did. Many friends.

This was his country. He’d always lived here. Why was it so hard to remember? The yacht harbor was nearby. Wasn’t it?

Whimpering, he held on with one hand while he licked the salty blood from the other.

Some of the seams of his tuxedo had burst when he made the fearful transition. Climbing down the cliffside had ripped and shredded the suit further.

He reached the beach finally. He should be able to remember better than this. It was that voice. The voice he’d heard there in the theater, rasping across his mind.

Limping, he began to run along the gritty sand.

He couldn’t die now. Everything couldn’t end now. Chaos, the Seven Servants… all that was meant to protect him.

“Never really wanted to be… this,” he gasped as he ran. “Joined the cult… so long ago… to stop… from being this thing… from being what the others through the years had been—a thing like this.”

But the Cult of Chaos hadn’t saved him. Instead he had used his unwanted power to make sacrifices to the demons who served Chaos, took the favors they granted.

“That’s all over!”

It was the voice again.

Prince Bavier looked behind him. No one there, no one pursuing him through the night.

“You are going to die! You and the cult with you!” A huge flapping sound above him. Black wings flapping overhead, louder and louder, circling around him. Then a girl, long-legged, dark-haired, standing there in his path.

The blind man bent, fingers closing around the handle of the fallen pistol.

Zona, with some help from her rattled agent, was helping Adam up. Still groggy, he tumbled into an empty seat.

Van Helsing dropped the gun into his coat pocket. He walked unerringly to the exit door through which the prince had fled.

The photographers were moving, pushing through the excited crowd, climbing over seats, shoving aside the great and the near-great.

They began to flow out of the place and into the Riviera night.

Kim Eels had been one of the first reporters out of the theater. Squinting, she was trying to discern which way Prince Bavier had gone. Seven or eight galloping photographers, cameras swinging, nearly felled her.

It hadn’t gone well.

No, that was an understatement surely, decided Inspector Gaboriau. Using his powerful flashlight to guide him, he was working his way down the cliffside, followed by two of his men. There was a path of sorts twisting down through the black rocks to the beach.

It had gone terribly. All chance of very quietly, very discreetly approaching Prince Bavier had been lost.

“But how was I to know?” the police inspector asked himself. “How could I know that he was also the man-beast, the killer I’ve been seeking?”

He lost his footing for an instant, slid, regained his balance.

“You should have known,” he told himself.

Then from the dark beach came the sound of two pistol shots.

“Won’t stop me!” Bavier had cried, leaping at Vampirella.

She sidestepped deftly, dealt him a chopping blow to his shaggy neck as he rumbled past her. She went after him, grabbed his arm and used it to lever him, hard, into a mound of boulders.

The creature roared, yowled, and leaped at her once again.

Shifting her position to meet him, Vampirella turned her ankle. And unexpectedly fell to her knees.

“Kill you now, rip you open!”

She tried to roll free, but the twisted ankle seemed to hold her like an anchor.

The furry hands snapped round her throat. Claws gouging into the flesh.

“Sacrifice you after all! Send your soul to Chaos!”

He did it without one slip. A blind man in the dark, he climbed down the cliffside ahead of them all. He made his way, with no false steps, along the beach.

Inside his head, although he was never certain how, old Van Helsing could see that beach. And he saw it bright and clear as though it were midday and not night. He saw Vampirella fall and he saw the lycanthrope prince throw himself upon her, fingers seeking to choke all the life out of her.

Van Helsing saw all that inside his head and kept walking. Slowly he took the pistol out of his pocket. When he was ten feet from the struggling pair, he held the pistol out and fired it twice.

Chapter 25

Tradition has it that a silver bullet will always kill a werewolf.

This is true.

Prince Bavier lay dead at the edge of the black water.

Tradition also has it that a werewolf will revert to his original human form after death.

This is not always true.

The late ruler of Macaco remained the misshappen, shaggy creature that had attacked Vampirella. On his back, making an X on the damp sand, he was still the beast. His eyes were wide open, his lips pulled back from his awful teeth.

The flashbulbs made him change color. They flashed and exploded all around.

Inspector Gaboriau and his men had been unable to hold the photographers back, or the reporters. They were all over, snapping pictures of the dead prince, asking questions of Van Helsing, snapping pictures of Vampirella, asking questions of Inspector Gaboriau, snapping more pictures of the dead prince.

At last some of the police got down from above with a stretcher.

“Don’t move him yet,” said one of the Italian photographers.

The inspector pushed him aside and the body was lifted onto the stretcher, covered with a rough flannel blanket and strapped in. One shaggy paw dangled free of the stretcher. Gaboriau pushed it away, but it swung out again. “All right, everyone move aside. Take him away.”

“The prince is dead,” said one of the French photographers. “Long live the princess.”

Vampirella found herself standing beside blind Van Helsing. She started to move away, then stopped and said, “You might have killed me, too.”

The old man shook his head and made no reply.

Pendragon bowed to the audience, which was sparse for his second show of the evening. “Ladies and gentlemen (and the rest of you cretins), I will amaze you initially with one of the most famed illusions in the vast repertoire of the Great Pendragon. It is only fitting that the Cabaret Chinois should enjoy the Chinese Casket Illusion.” Grimacing at the yellow spotlight that bathed him and the ornate casket, the magician moved to the center of the stage. With his wand, which appeared suddenly in his hand, he tapped a Chinese gong. “You will observe, as I tilt the intricately carved chest toward you, dear people, that it is truly and utterly empty (as are most of your souls).” He let the heavy lid fall shut. “Ah, but now…” He whanged the gong three times. “Zacara, Zicara, Zingaro!”

Pendragon touched the lid of the casket with his wand. “(Do try hard not to stumble this time out, Miss Nordling). Behold, my friends, a vision of rare beauty now appears before you!”

The audience gasped. Turning, so did Pendragon.

It was Vampirella who stepped forth from the casket, clad in her scant scarlet costume, smooth skin glistening.

“(You’re here, my dear!) Now you can readily see why the crowned heads of all Europe have sat in awe at the feet of the Great Pendragon. For who else can produce the fabled Vampirella from an old box like that? (Are you all right, child?)”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Stop muttering those asides to me. I’m fine.”

“(You gave me quite a start, appearing in place of the redoubtable Miss Nordling.) Many years ago, ladies and gentlemen, whilst spending a night in a motor lodge in Samarkand, I learned the fabulous rope trick with which I am about to astound you. It was a—”

“The prince,” said someone at the back of the club.

“What’s that?”

“He’s dead.”

“How did it—”

“… killed him…”

“… no, a werewolf…”

“… it’s true…”

“I thought we might have time to complete our last show before the word reached everyone in Macaco,” said Vampirella, putting a hand on the magician’s cloaked shoulder.

He was frowning out into the darkened room. “What is it, child, that the audience is babbling about? Surely the prospect of watching a rope trick can’t—”

“Prince Bavier is dead,” she replied.

Pendragon sank back, sitting atop the Chinese casket. “You didn’t carry out your—”

“No,” Vampirella said.

The pale yellow spotlight clicked off. The club remained in smoky darkness for several seconds, then the wall lamps flashed on. Most of the customers were standing, moving from table to table, talking. Some were already going out to the street.

“This hasn’t happened to me since that jealous husband shot my drum-roll man in Syracuse one Christmas,” said Pendragon. “A whole house walking out on me. How’d the prince come to his end?”

“The story should be in the papers tomorrow,” Vampirella said. She moved to the stage edge, sat down, long legs crossed, watching the last of the Chinois patrons disperse. “Although they won’t have all the details, I’m sure. What they leave out, I can tell you. Then, though, not now.”

Pendragon joined her. “With the lights up, dear child, I note some bruises on your neck and shoulders,” he said. “Is that part of the story?”

“Prince Bavier tried to strangle me,” she said.

“Oh, so?” Pendragon smoothed out a wrinkle in his black cape.

The girl reached out and hugged him. “I appreciate you, Pendragon,” she said, smiling close against his cheek. “Because I really don’t feel like talking about this anymore tonight. I know you’d like to hear all about it, but—”

“Perish the thought,” he said. “With the exception of an uncle of mine who worked as a private investigator in Cleveland, the Pendragons have never been a curious lot. You may tell me what you will, at your leisure.” He patted her hand. “If you’ll allow me to remove m’stage makeup, I’ll walk you home along the boardwalk.”

“Yes, that would—” She noticed someone sitting out at a table.

Adam had come in to the club as all the others were leaving. He sat at a table near the stage, watching her.

Pendragon noticed him, too. “Ah,” he said, rising with a groan and a sigh, “I see a raincheck in the making. I’ll dodder on to the hotel, child.” He gave Adam a lazy salute and wandered from the stage.

Vampirella perched on the stage edge for nearly a minute. Then, smiling faintly, she rose and walked to Adam’s table. She sat down across from him. “I guess we’d better talk,” she said.

Table of Contents

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25