THIRTY-ONE

Allen glided through nighttime Prague as if on autopilot.

He passed the dark and empty Sparta Stadium, crossed Milady Harakove, and entered the western reaches of Letna Park, where the bike paths and walking trails crisscrossed through the trees. Allen never lost his way. One foot plodded in front of the other. The small chunk of his brain that was still thinking independently fretted over Cassandra Evergreen. Had he made a covenant with evil? Would he contract some kind of unholy venereal disease?

Must... obey.

Trees closed in around him, and the complete darkness was terrifying and comforting. He trudged on. An owl hooted, and Allen froze. Eyes in the night. Never mind. Keep going.

The trees opened suddenly, and there was Prague Castle before him, sprawling and magnificent, high walls and towers lit for the tourists. Even compelled as he was to move on, Allen made himself pause a moment to take in the view, to gaze upon the onetime seat of the Holy Roman Empire.

Then the urge to obey grew uncomfortable enough to spur him on. He passed Sternberg Palace on the north side. Schwarnbersky Palace came into view soon after. The whole area was lousy with historical crap.

He cut through another thin patch of forest and found the old monastery at the foot of Petrin Hill. The Rogue's Guide entry to Strahov Monastery read like this:

Old libraries. No action.

Allen crossed the rambling cobblestone courtyard to the wide, wooden front-entrance double doors. He read the hours posted on the front door. The place opened for tourists at eight in the morning. Allen looked at his wristwatch.

1:36 a.m.

Stupid arbitrary half-assed vampire hypnotism bullshit.

A nudge in his ribs. Somebody was yammering foreign talk at him.

Allen blinked his eyes open, then looked up into the bored face of a uniformed man. Badge. Gun. Cop. The inside of Allen's mouth tasted like old cabbage and feet. He sat up, his back, shoulders, and neck aching from six hours of sleeping on a stone bench.

The cop jabbered in Czech.

"I'm sorry." Allen rubbed his neck, stretched. "I'm waiting for the monastery to open."

Already a small crowd of tourists gathered at the front entrance, cameras around necks, khaki shorts and hats, T-shirts with the Czech flag on the front.

The cop sighed. "American."

"Yes."

"Okay." He pointed to the big double doors. "Over there. Almost open." He tapped his wristwatch.

"Thanks."

Allen fell in with the rest of the tourists and waited. It opened, and he soon found out there was a separate entrance fee for the libraries and the picture galleries. It was eighty Czech crowns to tour the libraries, but they told him university students could get in for fifty, about the price of a cup of coffee. He paid and shuffled inside with the others.

He paid another forty crowns for a guidebook in English. The two libraries were known as the Philosophical Hall and the Theological Hall. The guide described the Theological Hall as housing the collection of ancient arcane learning. Allen went there first.

The hall was impressive, and Allen stood a moment at the entrance, taking it all in. The ceiling vaulted overhead like a barrel, giving the place a feeling of space, rich stucco, paintings. Globes and lecterns with books on display lined the walls, bookcases at least a dozen feet high. It was immediately clear one could not simply approach the shelves and start pulling off books as in a normal library. The guide said there was a reading room with specific hours that didn't start until later, and all handling of the books was carefully supervised.

Allen left this library and found the Philosophical Hall.

This library was even more impressive than the last.

The bookshelves rose fifty feet high on both sides, all the way up to a richly detailed ceiling painted-according to the guide-by Franz Anton Maulbertsch, depicting scenes showing mankind's search for ultimate wisdom. The shelves towered over Allen, made him feel like a spec.

Books. Lots and lots and lots of books.

This wasn't going to be easy.

Allen was considered by his professors to be an outstanding researcher. He could walk into any university library back in America, plop himself in front of a computer terminal, spend an hour getting the hang of the system, initiate a search, and walk out with anything he needed. The dust on these books was older than any library in America. Nothing appeared to be computerized, at least not at first glance.

Okay. Stop. Think. What's the smart way to do this?

He went back outside, found a cart selling hot coffee, sat down with the guidebook. He devoured a brief history of the monastery. It had been founded in 1143, had been burned to the ground in the 1200s, and had survived Hussites and Communists. Allen paged through again, tried to find passages that involved the relevant time frame.

There wasn't enough here. He needed a computer.

He finished the coffee and began asking directions. The same cop who'd hustled him off the bench pointed him toward an internet caf¨¦. Allen thanked him and started walking.

Allen realized it was no longer Cassandra's control that compelled him. It was his own curiosity. Whatever the vampire had done, it must have worn off with time and distance. He still felt the urge to investigate, the need to get to the bottom of... of whatever the hell it was that had taken over his life. Or maybe he was kidding himself. Maybe it was part of her spell that made it seem like it was Allen's own will that propelled him forward.

It didn't matter. He was going to solve this. He was going to get answers.

He circled the base of Petrin Hill to the east and veered south until he ran into a busy street and a cluster of shops, caf¨¦s, and other businesses. He followed the boulevard about five minutes until he found the internet caf¨¦ more or less where the cop had indicated. He ordered another cup of strong, black coffee and paid for an hour of web time. At the end of the hour he paid for two more and switched to espresso.

The monastery had its own website; it must have been a popular attraction, because there was an English-language option. Allen steadily worked his way through a more detailed history of the place. He borrowed a pen and jotted notes on a paper napkin.

He was narrowing it down, getting a workable plan together for finding his prize.

A man named Jan Lohel was abbot at Strahov from 1586 to 1612, which covered the time period in question. Perhaps they organized their materials according to the time at which they were acquired. Some collections might be attributed to particular abbots. Allen made a note.

It would likely be a handwritten manuscript, and in English. Narrowing it to works in English would help a lot. There! What was that? He hit the Back button and read more carefully. There was a special treasury room that housed rare volumes and fragile manuscripts. Any handwritten originals would be there. He was certain of it. Allen was a step closer.

He guzzled espresso, the excitement of impending discovery fueled by caffeine.

Allen poured over detailed summaries of a dozen historical anecdotes that seemed pertinent at first, but ultimately he scrolled on.

And then he had it. By 1603, a number of longtime residents of Prague Castle had left for good, including astrologers and alchemists. Many personal effects and written documents had been sent to storage in Strahov Monastery.

Allen knew the room he had to search, and he'd narrowed it down to the exact year.

Very soon he would be reading the last written words of Holy Roman Alchemist Edward Kelley.

1599

THIRTY-TWO

This astrologer fellow is a complete ass, Kelley wrote in his journal. He's almost as bad as Doctor Dee.

At least Roderick seemed to know his business better than that old fraud Dee had. For six weeks, Kelley had assisted the astrologer, working with the lenses and examining the stone from a safe distance, observing various experiments, many of which had been gruesome and dangerous. In no time at all, Kelley had been relegated to his typical duties of fetch and carry. Just like working for Dee all over again.

Except now Kelley felt he served two masters. Edgar sent his Society agents at least twice a week for progress reports. They frowned and crossed themselves upon hearing the details of Roderick's vile experiments. Only occasionally did Edgar come himself, warning that soon the Society would need to make its move.

Kelley simultaneously dreaded and welcomed whatever the Society planned. On the one hand, he wanted this over, to be free of Prague Castle so he could leave and never look back. On the other hand, Edgar's vague hints implied that the Society's scheme involved sudden, blinding violence. Kelley was sure to be caught in the middle.

In the meantime, he kept the journal, partly so he could offer a detailed report when the Society agents checked up on him, but also because he thought somebody somewhere would need to know what had happened here. Anyway, his writings would probably be disregarded as delusional fantasy. Why bother? But he scribbled in the journal every day.

Kelley finished his morning entry, then slid the journal into its hiding place under his clothes chest at the foot of his bed. He walked the short journey through the castle courtyard, into the castle, and down the dark twisting steps to the dungeon, where he found Roderick.

Emperor Rudolph was there.

Kelley froze and began to back out of the chamber when Roderick looked up and spotted him.

"Ah, there you are, Kelley. Fetch a couple of bodies from the corpse room, will you? There's a good man. Relatively fresh ones, please."

Kelley's shoulders slumped. "Okay. Give me a minute."

He trudged the corridor, grumbling under his breath, until he arrived at a thick wooden door. He pulled it open on creaking hinges and went inside. Dark, only the flickering torchlight from the hall behind casting its dim orange light on the pile of dead bodies. The ones on top would most likely be the freshest. He grabbed a man that looked a bit on the thin side-easier to carry-and took him back to the stone chamber, passing under the sharp eyes of Roderick and the emperor. He arranged the man in a wooden chair ten feet from the iron box, then went back to fetch the next body.

A young girl with a good volume of red hair. Slight. She looked easy to carry too. He bent, grunted as he heaved her over his shoulder and lugged her back. As he arranged her in the chair, he froze, going cold, heart skipping a beat. He knew that face.

Oh, God. Bianca.

He had finally remembered her name. The young serving girl who had warmed his bed so many times. He hadn't seen her in a couple of weeks, and the kitchen staff had told him she'd come down with fever. Bianca.

Kelley stood, backed away from Bianca, feeling leaden, like his skin was made of ice. He went back to Roderick, indicated the bodies were in position.

"What's the matter with you, Kelley? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"It's just... nothing."

"Well, pay attention. His Highness has asked for a demonstration, and I mean to oblige him." Roderick turned to the emperor. "Highness, there is still much work to be done before we reach our ultimate goal, but I believe you'll be impressed with our progress thus far."

Roderick entered the stone chamber, motioned for Kelley to follow him. "Help me position the lenses."

Kelley had watched the elaborate construction process as a dozen men had labored to install the apparatus. The machine consisted of a series of round frames into which the lenses were slid into place. There were eight sets of lenses, with three lenses in each set. Pulleys and levers had been rigged to raise or lower the lenses into place, and there were multiple permutations of ways the lenses could be arranged. Roderick and Kelley lowered the apparatus until the lenses encircled the iron box.

"I want the middle lenses only," Roderick said.

Kelley turned screws, loosening the middle lenses in their brackets, lowering them into place, then tightening the screws again.

"Okay," Roderick said. "Out of the room."

They retreated back into the hall and shut the iron door with a clang. A window about the size of a serving tray had been cut into the door, thick and obscenely expensive glass separating the observers from the goings-on within. After having conducted several experiments, Roderick had described the additional precautions as likely unnecessary but prudent nonetheless.

Roderick stood close to the door and peered through the window at the iron box and lenses, with the corpses sitting limply by. He signaled Kelley.

Kelley went to the big crank on the wall, grabbed the handle with both hands, grunted, put his back into it, and started turning. He picked up speed. The crank turned a shaft that connected to gears on the other side of the wall that connected to another shaft, which ran along the ceiling to more gears that turned the apparatus.

The lenses began to spin around the iron box, slowly at first. They picked up speed until they were a shimmering glass blur surrounding the box. Sweat broke out on Kelley's forehead and under his arms, but he kept up the pace.

When Roderick judged the speed sufficient, he pulled the lever that opened the iron box. The stone glowed a deep red, lighting up the lenses with almost blinding intensity. Kelley had seen it before and had thought, at first, that the light show had actually been quite beautiful.

Until he'd seen the result.

Roderick motioned Rudolph to the window. "Come witness, Your Highness."

The emperor paused. "Is it safe?"

"Quite safe behind the protective barrier, I assure you." Roderick knocked on the iron door to indicate its sturdiness. "Come see. The effects will soon make themselves evident."

Rudolph approached the window tentatively until he was standing shoulder to shoulder with the astrologer, his nose a half inch from the window glass. The Holy Roman Emperor was obviously curious. Years of planning and a small fortune had gone into his scheme. Just as obvious was the fact that he was a little nervous. Even emperors reported to a higher power.

The interior of the chamber was awash in bloodred light, pulsing as the stone emanated its rays.

"Observe, Highness." Roderick pointed. "Like our sun in the sky, the stone emits a spectrum of rays with a variety of properties. I believe the stone is attuned with the very fabric of reality, the same force that controls the tides and the seasons. The special lenses filter out the properties we don't want or need while allowing the beneficial properties to continue on. By controlling these rays we can achieve different effects. There! It begins."

Nothing happened at first. The emperor watched, unblinking, through the window, holding his breath. Then there was movement so slight it seemed a mirage at first. But when Rudolph gasped, Kelley knew the emperor had seen it.

A flutter of a single finger to start off. The male corpse lifted his head first, lurched out of the chair to stand on wobbling legs, head lolling like a dead chicken's. It opened its mouth, and a sort of choking cry erupted from its gob.

Rudolph crossed himself, a gesture Kelley had never seen the emperor make.

"You've brought him back to life," Rudolph said with awe.

"Er, well, not quite, Highness," Roderick admitted. "They are merely animated-undead, if you will."

"Undead?"

"Yes, a sort of state between life and death," Roderick said.

"And that's what you think I wanted?" The emperor's stare was as hard and flat as the iron door.

"No!" Roderick's eyes went wide. "Of course not, Highness. My goodness, no. I'm merely pointing out that we've taken such a big stride. Not immortality, not yet, but not death either. We haven't quite conquered death, but we've given it a good kick in the family jewels."

Rudolph nodded toward the shambling corpse. "Death would seem a preferable state to that."

"You're right of course, Highness." Roderick bowed formally. "Still, they are rather durable. We've made a dozen or so the past week, and they're damn hard to get rid of. Chop off an arm or a leg and they keep going, eh? Might actually be a little more like immortality than we thought." Roderick chuckled.

Rudolph did not laugh. At all.

Roderick cleared his throat. He wiped sweat from the back of his neck. "Your Highness is rightfully concerned. I simply wanted to demonstrate that we're doing some amazing things. I feel certain it's a matter of time before we find the right combination, filtering out the bad properties and allowing only select ones to bathe the subject. Life, Highness. It is within our grasp. I know it."

The emperor looked back at the zombie, which was now clawing uselessly at the wall. "Immortal life. Is science the answer, Roderick, or are we damning ourselves?"

"Highness, if there is a God, then surely He has given man dominion over all the earth. This stone may be from the heavens, but it fell to earth. Surely God has sent it to us, perhaps even as a test. I think it's our lot to push our intellects to the breaking point, to divine that which our Lord has sent us. Maybe He's testing us. Perhaps it's the ultimate test."

"Perhaps," Rudolph said quietly.

Roderick signaled Kelley to cease cranking. He pulled the lever to close the iron box. Kelley rubbed his shoulders. He'd worked up a good sweat.

Rudolph put his hand against the glass, looking into the chamber, as if mesmerized. "What about the other one?"

"Highness?"

"The other dead body. The young girl. She... it... isn't moving."

"Not uncommon, Highness. Sometimes the procedure fails to yield results. Perhaps certain bodies are not receptive." A shrug. "It's one of the mysteries that make our research so fascinating."

"Yes. Fascinating." The emperor's face remained blank. "I must think on this. Thank you, gentlemen, for the demonstration." He turned and left, a shadow seeming to hang over him.

"That's damned peculiar," Roderick said after Rudolph had gone. "I thought he would be more enthusiastic." He scratched at his beard, contemplating.

"Maybe he was ashamed," Kelley muttered.

"Eh?" Roderick lifted his head. "What was that?"

"Nothing. What should I do with it?" He indicated the zombie.

The astrologer looked up and down the hall. "Damn. All the soldiers have gone. It usually takes three or four each to hack them down safely. Can you let him chase you into the storage room we set up, Kelley?"

"They bite."

"Yes, but they're so slow. They just sort of shuffle along, don't they?"

Kelley sighed. "That worked fine when the room was empty, but now I'll run straight into a mob of them if I lead the new ones inside. It's getting crowded in there."

"Hmmmm, we'll need to devise some new way to dispose of them, I suppose. Maybe we can burn them all when the room is full."

Kelley pictured it, his gut lurching at the thought.

"We can leave them for tonight. Get some sleep, and we'll figure it out in the morning."

Kelley nodded, looked one more time at the back of her head, all that red hair.

He was glad he couldn't see her face.

Kelley returned to his room in the White Tower, and lay down, exhausted, in bed. Sleep would not come. Part of him was appalled at the crimes against nature he'd witnessed in the past few weeks, and another part of him was ashamed by the fact that these scenes were a little less appalling to him each passing day. He even found himself occasionally sharing Roderick's scientific enthusiasm, wondering how a particular experiment would turn out. Could a man get used to such things? He hated the thought of it. Seeing Bianca's dead face had shaken him, had yanked him back to the reality of what they were doing.

He tossed and turned, tangled the blankets, every muscle in his body aching for the sleep that wouldn't come.

He lay a long time, then he heard the door to his chamber open on rusty hinges. Kelley turned his head, saw the darkened figure enter.

"Who is it?"

No answer. Kelley held his breath.

The figure approached, and the bed sagged as it climbed on. Kelley's pulse clicked up a notch.

The figure crawled on top of him and Kelley trembled. He opened his mouth to scream but couldn't find the breath for it. The figure leaned forward, her face coming into the moonlight, her nose an inch from Kelley's. Bianca was ghost pale, her lips black, eyes red, teeth sharp and yellow.

"Take me, Edward, my love. Put yourself inside me."

And then Kelley did scream.

He thrashed, bucked the zombie off of him, kicked her away, rolled off the bed and hit the floor hard, tangling himself further into the bedclothes. He...

... opened his eyes.

He stood, panting, his heart racing. The yellow rays of dawn crept over the trees beyond his window. He looked around the room frantically, little panicked noises leaking out of him. A dream. Bianca. Just a dream.

He knelt to retrieve his journal from its hiding place beneath the chest. He took it to his desk and dipped his quill in ink, but he couldn't write. His hands shook. He filled a cup with cheap, dark wine, spilling some. He drank, letting it burn down to his belly, then took up the quill again.

I can no longer be part of this abomination. Edgar must be contacted. It's time. The Stone must be destroyed or hidden. It stops now.

Kelley poured another cup of wine. He drank and wept.

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