Nosferatu

25

Michael was delighted to find that, by chance, George from immigration was lurking around the departure checkpoint at JFK.

"You again, huh," the man growled. "You really seem to get around."

"Honeymoon, chummer," Michael beamed happily.

"Sure. With those two coming along as bridesmaids, I suppose," he sniffed, looking Serrin and Tom over.

Michael laughed at the man's feeble joke. The good humor got them through with little more than a cursory check.

"Let's hope he's still here when we get back," Michael said. "I don't want to go through all that drek again."

"We could always go to Cape Town afterward and get Kristen a real ID," Serrin said.

Michael whirled round, a beatific smile on his face, and threw his arms around the elf, hugging him tight. Serrin winced. His body still felt like it had been hammered with a meat tenderizer after the troll masseuse had done her work.

"I love you, you're a genius," the Englishman babbled.

Serrin looked at him, uncomprehendingly.

"From Cape Town, we can hit Bop. Sun City. It's a stinking drekhole, but there's something there I'd totally forgotten about until this moment."

"Which is what?" Serrin asked, trying to figure out what this crazy Englishman was bleating on about.

"Quickie divorces. Valid for any marriages within the Confederated Azanian Nations. I read about it somewhere," Michael said delightedly. "If both parties are present and in agreement, just pay the fee, and prestochange, no more mister and missus. Automatic." He raced off into one of the shops, returning in minutes with an indecently large bouquet of roses. They looked as if they might be real, but silk wasn't a bad substitute. He half-forced them on to Kristen and got down on one knee before her.

"Darling, will you do me the honor of divorcing me?"

The girl almost fell backward laughing, but Serrin thought her beautiful wide smile had never been so lovely.

"Well, I don't know, Michael. That's a big decision for a girl. But, yes," she laughed, "I do."

Michael smiled as he got to his feet, dusting off his hands to show a job well done. "Now, let's go and blow that bloodsucker into the next universe."

As they made their way to the departure gates, the troll turned to Serrin.

"You got some crazy friends, chummer," he said happily.

"Yeah, he is kind of strange."

"And she's beautiful," the troll said quietly.

Serrin felt his heart skip a beat. It hurt to think that they were about to plunge into something that was as powerful as it was infernal. They didn't know if they'd still be alive tomorrow and yet he was dragging Kristen straight in it. For one moment, he wanted desperately to turn around, to walk away, to say this isn't our struggle, let someone else do it. But he knew he couldn't. There wasn't anyone else.

Niall bought a wristwatch in Paris. He looked at the gold Fuchis and the rest of the gleaming trays filled with absurdly overpriced ostentation for people who wanted to advertise their wealth, then settled on an economical Korean model. He hardly needed it to know what the time of day was, however. He always knew that from the sun and moon, from the feeling inside his own body. But, for some reason, maybe superstition, he thought he needed one.

He felt alone. Mathanas was gone from him, away in his astral form, investigating their route, assensing for

any pursuers, drawing on his own energies for what lay ahead. Niall sat in a sidewalk cafe along the Champs Elysee, skewering a garlic-coated snail from its shell and sipping what the French laughably referred to as beer. It tasted like a mix of bad British lager and something extracted from the bladder of a devil rat, but at least it was cold. He set the fake stein down on the table before him and wiped the foam from his lips.

I am truly an idiot, he thought. Who comes to France and orders beer! Serves me right.

The wristwatch told him he still had thirty minutes before the train to Charles de Gaulle airport and the flight to Munich. He ordered a Cointreau chaser and drained the glass in one gulp.

Here's to the next life, he thought philosophically, and then went to find a cab to the airport. He'd abandoned any surveillance of the Americans well before this; it was too late for them now.

They made Berlin by four, feeling better for the naps they'd taken in flight. Serrin, in particular, was happily surprised to find that Michael was right about the massage. Some of his muscles even felt like they might be on the verge of relaxation.

Serrin had never been in the city before, but hadn't really believed Michael's description during the flight. Surely no place could be so chaotic. It was just too plain dumb, and Germans were too sensible.

Except in Berlin, as he realized once they got there.

Immigration barely looked at their IDs; the inspectors merely threw a glance at the covers of their passports, smiled at the marriage registration, and offered Michael congratulations in a tone of voice that suggested they'd recently got lucky intercepting the importation of something both interesting and illegal and chipped or imbibed most of whatever it was.

The airport was Babel rebuilt to feature runways. The concourses seemed to be filled with street-theater freaks, jugglers, puppeteers, Dadaist mime geeks, religious lunatics proclaiming the end of the world next Monday, Wednesday, or Friday depending on the cult, burned out

chipheads, street girls, street boys, street whatevers, and drunks. Occasionally, passengers like themselves did their best to weave their way through the human detritus blocking their path. Security, such as it was, seemed totally oblivious except where outright violence was threatened. Serrin's little group hadn't gone ten yards without being offered girls, boys, expansion of consciousness by guru or pill, redemption by mail order, and membership in societies and organizations catering to every inclination imaginable and a few that weren't.

"I've never been here before," Serrin said as Kristen clung to him, "and I'm never, ever, coming back again."

"Oh it's not so bad, chummer. It's just that the Free City has abandoned pretty much everything worth having from the last six thousand years of civilization," Michael grinned. "But the beer's good. And the place isn't all like this. Of course, some of it's worse. Most of it, if I were to be truthful. But the Metropolitan, where we're staying, that at least is an oasis of sanity. Well, it's got security anyway, which is what we need. And we can get things here we couldn't get anywhere else in the German Alliance. We've got a busy evening ahead."