Sons of the Dragon

But first on earth as Vampire sent,

Thy corpse shall from the tomb be rent:

Then ghastly haunt thy native place,

And suck the blood of all thy race;

There from thy daughter, sister, wife,

At midnight drain the stream of life;

Yet loathe the banquet which perforce

Must feed thy livid living corpse.

Shall know the demon for their sire,

At cursing thee, thou cursing them,

Thy flowers are withered on the stem.

Wet thine own best blood shall drip

Thy gashing tooth and haggard lip;

Then stalking to thy sullen grace,

Go -- and with Gouls and Afrits rave;

Till these in horror shrink away

From Spectre more accursed than they!

Lord Byron,

The Giaour

, 1813

* * *

"Halloween's coming up too damn quick," Detective Cy Schmitt said somberly to Sergeant Ray Norton. "The chief wants to meet with us tomorrow. We better have the plan ready."

Last Halloween eight young women had been turned into zombies in a town just like theirs. On October 1, of last year, eight stakes arranged in a circle had been discovered outside the city where the atrocities occurred a month later. An unusual emblem lay in the middle of the stakes, which had been dipped in blood. A warning, but one that had been ignored. The farmer who found them called police, who at first considered it some sort of prank. But then eight nubile girls were found tied to the stakes, naked, the day after Halloween.

"This all seems like nonsense to me, Cy," Ray muttered irritably. "Just because some kids decided to have a little fun."

"The chief is taking it seriously, Ray. You saw the stakes and the emblem a week ago outside our city.

Exactly

the same. That emblem isn't something you can pick up at an antique shop.

And

it's over five hundred years old, according to Dr. Randolph.

And

those eight nude girls

were

found semi-comatose last Halloween. That's not nonsense, or having a little fun."

"I saw the pictures. They all had bodacious blinkers. I'm surprised that old dude who found them didn't just up and croak right there on the spot. Eight babes in the buff and on their knees. I would have made them my orchestra, and played pass the skin flute. When is Buffy the Vampire Slayer getting here, anyway?"

"Should be soon. Her flight should have landed half an hour ago."

"Why didn't you pick her up?"

"She told the chief she'd rent a car."

"What's she look like? Some old biddy?"

"I don't know what she looks like. And I've never seen or talked to her. The chief says she's a professor at some Ivy League school."

"And she is some sort of vampire expert?"

"Apparently she has spent a good deal of time in places like Hungary, Romania, Transylvania, and Albania, doing some sort of research on the subject."

"Wonderful. And I suppose we have to take orders from the bitch."

"Whatever the chief says. Speaking of which, here he comes."

"Yeah, look at that chick with him. Hot damn! Hope she's the new temp. I'd like to pat her ass, cop a feel on those knockers, and lick her pussy."

"You better put the booze away, Ray. The chief said next time he catches you, you're on suspension. Without pay. How are you going to settle up those gambling debts?"

Ray slid the bottle of Jack Daniels back into his top drawer. The chief approached their desks with the young woman.

The detective and the sergeant looked her over carefully. Tall, scarlet hair put up over her head, pale complexion. Very pretty and sexy despite her rather businesslike attire. Cropped black jacket, white silk blouse, check-print cotton pleated skirt. Mid-twenties, Cy estimated her age. Almost old enough to be his daughter, he mused, and young enough to be one of Ray's girlfriends. He stifled a chuckle at the thought. Not that Ray wouldn't try his luck. He often bragged to Cy that he was a babe magnet.

"Cy, Ray," the chief said, "this is Dr. Margaret Randolph. Like I informed you, she'll be working the 'Dragon' case with you. Now the three of you put your heads together and we'll meet late tomorrow afternoon. Got it?" They nodded. The chief turned and walked away.

"Cy, Ray," she greeted, and extended her hand. Ray remained seated, grasped it firmly and squeezed it hard. She didn't grimace. Cy stood and took her hand by the fingers, like a gentleman.

"Pleased to meet you, Dr. Randolph," Cy offered.

She laughed delightfully. "You guys can address me by my first name. I think we are going to be spending a lot of time together between now and Halloween."

"Okay, Peggy, so what's your plan to catch the vampires?" Ray asked sarcastically.

"It's Margaret," she snapped. Cy gave him a look that said,

You better be careful with this one, boy. She's not one of your bimbos.

"That's your desk, Margaret," Cy informed her, pointing. He had pushed it up against theirs, facing them.

"Thank you." She placed her briefcase and notebook computer on the desk, and sat gracefully. "Let's get started, shall we?"

The professor gave them a lecture. Cy acted like a student, taking notes furiously. Ray looked bored, drifting off into space, but his eyes riveted on her long, lovely legs.

Margaret told them of the Sons of the Dragon, which the emblem represented. The Order of the Dragon originated as a secret fraternal organization founded in 1387 by the Holy Roman Emperor. The emblem of the order consisted of a dragon with its wings extended, hanging on a cross. Like the ones found in the middle of the circle of stakes, in that town, and now this town. The same emblem that hung over the door at Curtea Domneasca, Vlad Dracula's palace in Bucharest.

She explained that "drac" means "dragon" in Romanian, with "ul" being the definitive article. Vlad Tepes, or Vlad III, inspired Bram Stoker's novel. His father, Vlad II, had been a member of the Order of the Dragon. The father became known as Vlad the Dragon, or Vlad Dracul. The ending "ula" in Romanian means "the son of." Thus Vlad III became Vlad Dracula, "the son of the dragon."

Ray interrupted. "So you are going to tell us, uh…Margaret, that whoever tied those chicks to the stakes in their birthday suits are frigging vampires? Some sort of descendents of this 'Son of the Dragon.' I don't believe this bullshit!" He guffawed.

"Watch your language, Ray," Cy chastised, looking angry. "Tell us more, Margaret. What about the incidents last year? We have the police reports, the medical reports, and all that. But what…how…?"

"Yes, let me continue, Cy. The surname 'Tepes' means 'The Impaler' in the Romania language. Vlad Tepes enforced his self-righteous morality upon his country, expressing violently a particular concern with female chastity. His victims most often experienced torture or death as a result of their indiscretions. Some were impaled through the vagina. Vlad's own unfaithful mistress suffered such a fate." Suddenly she seemed a trifle distressed, and squirmed in her seat. "Uh…Cy, where is the bathroom?" He pointed her in the right direction.

After she got up and left, Ray began to grumble. "Those honey pies got impaled through the vagina all right, Cy." Ray snickered. "With a big fat python of pleasure, just like mine. Who is that snotty smart-ass bitch trying to kid? Those fur burgers got fucked silly and loved every minute of the fuzz bumping. Then they probably begged to get it up the heiny hole. This Halloween I think I'll wear a Dracula costume, and let the bearded clams grovel before me on their knees."

"Ray, I would appreciate it if you would watch your language around the lady. She's not one of those crack whores you just love to roust."

"They're all whores, and they all got cracks," Ray retorted flippantly. "Here comes the nut cracker back from the toilet. I bet she was sitting on the seat and tickling her tuna."

"Margaret, why do you think those eight women were chosen as victims?" Cy asked, as she sat back down. "None of them were prostitutes, or anything like that. Just girls out to have fun on Halloween. All dressed in costumes, out partying at clubs and bars. I even have a description of the costume each wore that evening. Let's see…three witches, a French maid, two angels, a Cinderella, and a Snow White."

One of them was my sister. An angel, but dressed as a "mekasefa," the Hebrew word for female witch, so she said

. Margaret recalled sorrowfully their telephone conversation an hour before Katherine--Katie--left for the Halloween party at her favorite club.

"Hey, I saw those outfits those sluts wore," Ray noted, smirking. "Sexy stuff. Short skirts, a lot of skin. Cock teasers."

"Ray!" Cy snarled. "All eight women had severe bite marks on their necks, and a substantial quantity of their blood had been drained."

"The vampires sucked their blood out," Ray growled, as he bared his teeth and extended his tongue in a licking motion directed at Margaret. "Isn't that what vampires do? Suck? Are you a vampire?" he posed, glowering at her lecherously .

"Each young woman," Margaret responded, nodding at Cy and ignoring Ray, "was seen by companions talking with a tall, handsome, mustachioed man dressed in a black cape and some sort of red suit underneath it. But the victims' companions that night couldn't give me much more to go on. All except one. I talked to every one I could locate."

Katie told me nothing. But I see the desperate look in her hollow eyes. She wants to talk, but can't.

"Tell us about the one exception, Margaret," Cy requested.

"One of the eight victims, Maryellen Patton, left with a mustachioed man in black and red, according to the girlfriend she went to the club with. This girlfriend, Amanda Morrison, told me Maryellen called her on her cell phone about 11:45 P.M at the club. The man, who called himself Radu, had left the motel room to get a pack of smokes, so he said. After they had a very strange sexual liaison for an hour. Then Radu returned as the two young women continued to talk on the phone. Amanda heard a terrifying scream. Then nothing."

"Tell us about the weird sex," Ray urged, becoming much more interested.

"Do you think we could get something to eat, Cy?" Margaret inquired, her stomach growling. "I'm famished." He nodded. "Let me check into my hotel and change, and I'll meet you in an hour." He nodded again. Cy wrote down on a slip of paper the name, address, and directions to his favorite neighborhood tavern. "I take it jeans and a T-shirt are appropriate attire?"

"Naked would be better," Ray rumbled under his breath, but the others heard.

"That's fine, Margaret, whatever you want to wear is fine. Don't pay any attention to the sergeant. His mother never taught him how to behave in the presence of a lady."

"Well, about an hour then, gentlemen." She coughed as she glanced at Ray, and got up and left.

* * *

The man in black and red followed Dr. Margaret Randolph from the police station to the Holiday Inn. He waited for forty-five minutes until she came back out and got in the rental car. The son of the dragon resumed surveillance.

* * *

Margaret walked into the tavern and spotted Cy and Ray at a table, already drinking beer and eating pizza. She approached them. "How did you know I like anchovies, Cy?" she asked, amused.

"Not me. Ray ordered the pizza."

"I like fish," Ray muttered impudently, staring right at the doctor's crotch, irritated about the rapport that Cy and she seemed to be slowly establishing.

Cy gave Ray a threatening look and pulled out a chair for Margaret. She sat. He gave her a plate and she took a slice of pizza. "What would you like to drink?" he asked.

"Sailor Jerry," she responded, "with a lot of ice and Coke on the side." She pulled a jar of garlic powder from her purse and liberally sprinkled it on her pizza.

"How do you kill a vampire, Margaret?" Ray queried rather pugnaciously. "Screw him to death?"

She froze him with a stare that Cy thought just might make the living dead quake in their coffins, if there were such a thing.

"I meant," Ray continued tentatively, "I've heard all kinds of theories about how to kill vampires. The old stake screwed through the heart, a nail through the temple, remove their heart and cut it in two, cut off their toes, cut off the head and boil it in vinegar, bury them face downwards, expose them to direct sunlight. So what works?"

"What about garlic?" Cy asked, watching her devour the garlic-saturated pizza.

"You must do a little cooking, Cy," Margaret responded, smiling at him warmly. "Garlic, indeed. In some areas of Romania they still today smear garlic on the windows and doors of their homes, stuff it in the bodily orifices of corpses to prevent the evil ones from entering the dead body, and things like that."

"Are you going to tell us about the weird sex, or not?" Ray asked impatiently.

"Did you know, Cy," she continued ignoring Ray, "that the French occultist Robert Amelian claimed it was arsenic not garlic that foiled vampires? Somewhere along the line garlic, which smells somewhat similar--so they say--was substituted because it was cheaper."

"How interesting. How about the kinky shagging?" Ray persisted, belligerently.

"Cy, did you notice anything else about the eight victims from the medical reports that we haven't discussed?"

"No, Margaret, not that I recall. Did you?"

"All of the girls have O negative blood."

"I missed that connection."

"Only six percent of the population is O negative," she observed. "Don't you think it's highly unusual that these eight young women all are O negative?"

"Not really," Rau grumbled.

"Statistically, the odds of a random group of eight people all being O negative is one in six billion."

"So what?" Ray blurted.

"I see your point, Margaret," Cy conceded.

"And O negative is the most in demand blood type for transfusions," she continued. "People who have any other blood type can be safely transfused with O negative blood. This becomes very important in critical medical emergencies."

"So you are saying that vampires like to drink O negative blood, 'eh?" Ray bellowed. "Don't matter to me. I got my red wings. I like it bloody. I must be one of them vampires myself. By the way, one of my favorite groups is Type O Negative."

She nodded. "I'm familiar with that group."

"Tunes like 'Christian Woman' about a chick with a cross on her bedroom wall and the image of a prick burning in her mind and between her thighs. Yeah, and 'Little Miss Scare-All' is another one I like. The vamp with the Devil's mark on her neck practices boo bitch craft. Which one are you, Margaret, the X-tian nympho or the horny vamp? Probably both, but let's talk about what the perps did to the horny chicks when they wing-wonged them and turned their minds into Jello. Not that they probably had much to begin with."

Turning a deaf ear to Ray, she smiled sweetly at Cy, and said, "What I think is a possibility is that perhaps certain other blood types might not be…uh…how should I put this…totally compatible with a vampire's palate. Just maybe the vampire's body rejects other blood types. What blood type are you, Cy?"

"A positive."

"That's the most common type. How about you, Jack?" She glared at Ray.

"My name is Ray."

"Oh. What blood type are you?"

"I don't really give a damn," he replied, disinterested in the conversation.

"Well, you could safely receive a blood transfusion from me, an O negative. Not that I would give my blood for you, unless it was contaminated." She gave him a confrontational, incredibly intense gaze.

"You two believe all this vampire crap?" Ray roared at her and Cy.

"If these perpetrators aren't vampires, then they think they are," she snapped at him viciously. Several tears fell from her misty, emerald green eyes.

"Margaret, don't let Ray get to you."

"Ray is not getting to me, Cy. No way is he getting to me. Quit staring at me like I'm a piece of meat, Sergeant Norton. And cease the profanity and sexual innuendos immediately. Or I'll be talking to your chief about harassment. That, or perhaps I'll kick you in the cojones. Do you understand?"

Ray looked quite dumbfounded. He intimidated most women and they dared not speak to him like this one did. One way or another, he found a way to stick his dick in their mouth and shut them up. He looked forward to doing the same to this witch bitch.

Cy changed the subject quickly to break the boiling tension between his two companions at the table.

"Margaret, what significance do you think is attached to the number eight? Eight victims last Halloween. Eight stakes found outside our city limits a few weeks before this Halloween."

"Eight, spiritually speaking, symbolizes resurrection or regeneration -- a new beginning."

"Those young women had a new beginning all right," Cy agreed. "In another world."

"Yes, another world," Margaret murmured softly.

Like Katie.

She visited her younger sister every Sunday at the nursing home. She read to her, and told her anecdotes about their childhood. But Katie remained expressionless. Margaret had raised Katie after their parents died.

But was it really due to an automobile accident?

Margaret now wondered more than ever.

The man in black and red who had followed Margaret entered the tavern. He sat at a bar stool sideways, so he could watch them without being obvious. But she noticed his uncommon interest. And so did Ray, who chalked it up to the guy fantasizing about getting in this babe's pants, just like he did.

"Vampires, the Nosferatu," Cy muttered, under his breath.

"What? What did you say, Cy?"

"Oh, just talking to myself, Margaret."

"What about the Nosferatu?" she persisted.

"I'm somewhat of a devotee of ancient horror films.

Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horrors

is one of my favorites. It first played more than eighty years ago in Germany. Kind of a take on Bram Stoker's novel. Too much of a take, apparently. Stoker's widow sued the maker of the film. She sought to destroy all copies but they continued to surface over the years. A remake entitled

Nosferatu the Vampyre

was released a little over twenty years ago. Then several years after that a restored copy of the original became available."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, Cy," Margaret said. "But did you know that 'nosferatu' does not mean 'vampire' or 'undead' or such?"

"What does it mean?"

"It's a Slavonic word that was derived from the Greek

nosophoros,

which means 'plague carrier.' Plague carrier, indeed. Our eight victims of Halloween past seem to have been infected with some strange malady. Something that makes them living corpses."

"Who gives a shit about some stupid old movie?" Ray objected vehemently. "We need to talk about what happened to those eight chicks."

"Oh, you mean the ones who are now vegetables?" Margaret gnarled viciously.

"Yeah. Are you going to tell us what the girlfriend of the victim said or not?" Ray pleaded, much more timidly.

"Yes, I suppose I must. Perhaps it will give you a clue we must deal with these creatures. In order to defeat evil, you must understand the nature of evil." She glared at Ray and he scowled in return.

Cy, furrowed brow and sullen frown, seemed to be deeply contemplating her last remark, and then he repeated it. "In order to defeat evil, you must understand the nature of evil."

Margaret told the two police officers the story as the girlfriend, Amanda Morrison, had related it to her. She and the victim, Maryellen Patton, had gone to the Catbird Club for the Halloween party dressed in skimpy little French maid outfits. Maryellen wore the baby doll maid costume. Ribbon adjustable straps, stretch satin with lace ruffle cups and lined with netting. Matching apron, attached garters, sheer panty and stockings.