Oh! What a gala night! Oh, what an event! Everyone, simply Everyone, was there. What a pity it had to be in the summer, in this dreadful hot weather. But those workers had, just taken their time and those awful unions - everyone knew how they could be.

Yet it was done now. Finished and complete and shining and wasn't it simply marvelous! All those slopes and weird shapes? What was that architect's name? Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. The important thing is it's all done now and what an event we are having tonight. Everyone was there.

Even the streets were dressed for the event. With banners and streamers and a band playing both before and after the show, as all those people would be strolling out. And, oh, the cameras and the street all blocked off and the chairperson of the Opera Committee arriving in that two-horse carriage with the mayor and his wife and...

Oh, the street entertainers! Look at them! Aren't they cute? All those mimes and those jesters dressed in those cute, tight stripes with those hats with the bells on them. And even more fun were the period people, with those costumes like the opera itself, selling - what was that? Mead? Or some such thing? And meat pies. And turkey on a stick. And those two artisans, wearing that cute chain mail and selling those old weapons that were positively guaranteed to be authentic but shouldn't they have at least painted over the plastic parts, ha ha?

Pity about the opera part of it all. It was pretty, of course - beautiful, some of those costumes. But it was rather dreadfully long, wasn't it? Of course, operas are supposed to be long and one knows it's Great Art and all the rest, but still one wonders - perhaps if it was just a teensy bit shorter? And if we could understand what they were singing? Perhaps they should just speak some of it? But then it wouldn't be opera, would it?

Of course, it wouldn't have to be subsidized then, either, but not to think of that now, because it was over and everyone, Everyone, had woken up from their little naps and... Oh! The afterparties! All those delicious afterparties! Because this was such an Important Occasion, such a Cultural Milestone! Like New Year's Eve, wasn't it? With all the limousines and there goes the mayor in his little buggy and wasn't it so much nicer now that it was cooler and that hot sun had gone down? People didn't look quite so... wilted, somehow. One should never look wilted in a formal gown - how tacky! And the men, how handsome in their tuxedos. Oh, they always complain and gripe, but secretly, everyone knows, they love to dress up. And they really are so handsome. Nothing like black tie to make a man look distinguished, even those men who have - how shall we say it? - aged both in years and size? Both up and out? Ha ha!

Like that handsome silver-haired fellow just now coming down the steps, the one alone going between the new brass pillars that hold up the awning, going toward that limousine with that tall chauffeur holding the door.

What was his name?

"Kennedy!" barked Gunman Felix, coming around from behind his "authentic crossbow" stand.

The vampire turned and smiled and the crossbow bolt as big as a baseball bat shot right through the gleaming expanse of his starched white tuxedo shirt and splattered clear drops out the back and the umbrella barbs popped open and held it fast

And for just a moment, only Felix, binding the cable to the thick brass pillar, was moving. Everyone else was frozen, too startled to gasp. Unbelieving. This wasn't possible was it? Or part of the show? A trick? An assassination? Too surreal...

Even the monster stood as he had, staggered back a step, his arms flung wide by the impact, his redding eyes focused on the wooden stake piercing his blackened soul.

For just an instant...

Then the eyes went up and the mouth spread wide the fangs and, the howl began...

And Cat stepped in from the left and fired and his bolt plunged deep, crisscrossing the first, and as he scrambled to tie his cable to the other brass pillar, the monster... detonated...

The howling, the ungodly, unreal howling shot through the crowd and echoed off the street and the maniacal frenzy was impossibly violent and crazed. Oh, God! The howling, screeching, tearing sound...

And the people watching who had first thought: murder. Murder! Murder!!... now thought, What is this? What is that! It cannot be a man! It cannot be! Not that sound! An animal? What kind of an animal could...

Thrash and rip and screech and the hissing burst forth upon them and the first desperate evil wrenching-away shook the thick brass pillar and the second made it rock and creak and the awning above it sway and then the second cable was tied fast and the monster frenzied even wilder with the terror of being trapped and... and the anger.

...the blazing fury...

...at this young man who presumed to attack a god!...

And instead of pulling away, the monster burst forward toward Felix.

And into his balloons.

They weren't water balloons that broke and splashed on his face and chest, that awful smell in its gleaming mouth.

They were gasoline. And they broke, one-two-three, across his front and soaked him and Cat already had the flare lit and he tossed it and it hit the rushing chest and bounced off, but not before...

The flames rushed up and out and around him, his clothes and hair and skin bursting with it, a flame that could not be that color, could not be that bright and cracklingloud and when the black glob finally spat forth, it was burning.

And nothing could have that evil, hell-wretched smell.

No thought of anger. No thought of vengeance. Not anymore. No more. The pain... the pain! And it howled and warped into madness and wrenched back and the pillars swayed and gave some and it wrenched some more, the screaming, the screaming, and the pillars started to buckle where they were bolted against the sidewalk.

NO! No! It can't get free!

The Gunman squatted and aimed and fired at the 'right knee and missed and fired again and hit it. And then the left knee and the howling! The howling as it crumpled, crippled and imploding with the agony, still wrenching itself back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster, screaming and screaming and the pillars...

The pillars broke free and it fell backward, rolling, and lay there for a second as two more silver bullets rammed into its chest. But then it was up, a ball of scrambling flame backing away, thudding into the side of the limousine and then crawling like a crab across the top into the street and -

And Gunman Felix fired again and again and again and, yes, there was an effect. It jerked and swayed with each impact...

But there was no stopping it. It was into the middle of the street now, scrambling, scrabbling away, the ends of the crossbow bolts sparking on the asphalt and...

We can't stop it! It'll get away and the flames will go out and it'll pull those stakes out.

Now! We've got to stop it now! Just for a few seconds! It couldn't take much longer.

The Blazer, the one Davette had sworn to stay hidden in two blocks away, was doing twenty-five when it vaulted across the sidewalk, thirty when it bounced across the curb into the street, and an even thirty-six when its front bumper slammed dead-center into the warping flames.

The noise! The streak of fire as the vampire flew past them, the awful crash as it splintered against the front bumper of its own black limousine, the terrible keening wail as it lay, a frenzied flaming blur, against the curb.

Gunman Felix was standing over it when the burning hands tried to raise up, was staring down when the blazing tortured eyes focused on him, was smiling when they collapsed backward into the fire.

The swell of flame was twelve feet wide and hot and bright and impossibly loud.

Then the loud hissing, as though gas were escaping. Then sparks. So many sparks.

Then that loud pop thunderous and deep.

Then nothing. A tiny circle of blue-and-white flame flickering out around a small pile of ashes.

The people watching had no idea what they had just seen. But something inside was glad. Something inside was relieved. Something inside was grateful to the pair in the chain mail. Later they would forget. Or try. But now.

Supernatural.

"We did it!" shouted Cat, unbelieving himself. "We did it! Felix! We killed it! We killed a master! At night!"

Felix nodded, said, "Yeah."

Then he turned to the tall, pasty-faced chauffeur and thumped two fingers hard into his chest.

"Spread the word."

Last Interlude

It was only Will. Will and Hatred and Revenge. Over Pain.

Will and Hatred and Revenge were stronger, were they not?

I am stronger, am I not?

Did I not bear the cramped capsule across the seas, with the sputtering, plaything mortals seeking to caress me and join with me?

Could any other have done that?

Would any other dare?

Would any other know what I know about this Disease-Felix?

Will and Hatred and Revenge must be satisfied.

So up and over the ancient walls that could never be too high or too strong for his powerful claws, nor could the drop over the side be too high or any creature or mortal fool be able to sprint across these famous gardens with such breathtaking speed and grace.

Yes, the pain. The awful pain. The greater pressure of the pain, across his temples and into the bones of his face and skull as he drew nearer and nearer to this, the Lair of the Monster's Beast on Earth.

Oh, the agony. Oh, the pressure as it grew. It stumbled once, with this pain, with this agony.

But Hatred and Revenge and Will!

For the Disease-Felix would not leave! It would not come out! It stayed and stayed, happy and breathing and warm in the center of the pain and -

And it thought it was safe! It cannot think it is safe! It cannot believe!

The walls of the building were as slick as the outer barricades but its claws, even with the pain, were no less sharp or strong. It could spring up these walls, up or down or sideways, until it found the terrace and found the window into its room.

Its room. Did he not know this room? Was this not his room when once he, too, was Pawn of the Monster's Beast on Earth? Did he not..

Ohhh! The pain. Stronger here is the pain. So close to the center. So certain of its wretched might.

But there is still Will. There is still Hatred.

He would still swallow deep his Revenge.

Somewhere on the grounds below the alarms began to sound and the lights began to glow through the trees and there were the sounds of mortals running like fools and calling to one another.

But too late.

The ancient terrace door and all its locks and bolts and sneaky wires were too late. The door gave easily in his claws and, Yes! The pain was greater inside, much, much, greater. But he summoned his Will. He summoned his Hatred. And he stalked across the centuries-old room. Stumbling, yes. With pain, yes. The great pressure seared through 'him.

But then he was at the bedside and there! Before him! The form of the Disease-Felix so smug and safe in its sheets.

And he ripped at the sheets, agony though this movement was, and exposed the form underneath and cried, "Felix! Feeeelixxxx! I have come for you!"

But the face that turned to his own was an elderly one...

"No! Noooo!" it shrieked.

And the Old One said, its voice gentle and sad, "Jack... My son! My poor son."

And the wrinkled hand, so softly caressing its cheek...

The flame exploded across his face and skull and down his spine before spreading across the rest of his body. His howl of pain was impossible to bear. The flame swirled around him and raised him up and consumed him, Consumed him, sent him rocketing about the walls and the ceilings and all those places his soul did touch could never ever be wiped completely clean...

And then the scream ceased. And the flame condensed and boiled in the center of the room.

Then it shot upward out of sight.

The man stared a long time at the spot on the ceiling where the flame had gone. It was only when he moved at last that he realized he was crying.

And noticed the young Gunman standing in the doorway, the forbidden pistol in his hand.

"How did you know?" he asked.

Felix's face was grim as he reholstered the Browning.

"It's what I would have done."