Though the loud speakers hissed and crackled, I knew the voice. It belonged to Julian Stryker.
For the first time since entering the stadium, I turned my eyes to the arena. There stood Stryker on top of a canvas object that looked like some sort of large, rectangular tent. About ten feet high, maybe twenty feet long and wide, it took up most of the arena. The wind shook the canvas walls with a sound that reminded me of sailboats on the river.
It blew Stryker’s long black hair and fluttered his shirt. His loose black shirt, half unbuttoned, gleamed in the stadium lights. His black leather pants looked as if they’d been oiled. He held a microphone in one hand, and turned slowly like the ringmaster of a circus. As he turned, the microphone in his right hand picked up the jangle of his spurs.
“WELCOME TO THE TRAVELING VAMPIRE SHOW!”
Some polite applause came from the audience.
“MY NAME IS JULIAN STRYKER. I AM THE OWNER OF THE SHOW AND YOUR MASTER OF CEREMONIES FOR TONIGHT’S EXTRAVAGANZA.”
Lee nudged me, grinned, and said,
‘“TONIGHT, YOU’LL FEAST YOUR EYES ON THE WORLD’S ONE AND ONLY KNOWN VAMPIRE IN CAPTIVITY ... A DIRECT DESCENDENT OF THE GREAT COUNT DRACULA HIMSELF ... THE GORGEOUS AND DEADLY
More applause, along with some whispers and titters.
Stryker raised his arms for silence.
When the audience quieted down, he continued, “NOT LONG AGO, VALERIA ROAMED THE WILD REACHES OF THE TRANSYLVANIAN ALPS, FALLING UPON PEASANTS AT NIGHT, SINKING HER TEETH INTO THEIR THROATS AND DRAINING THE BLOOD FROM THEIR BODIES. AT MY RANCH IN ARIZONA, I KNEW NOTHING OF THESE STRANGE, UNGODLY MURDERS. NOT UNTIL THE NEWS ARRIVED THAT MY OWN UNCLE AND HIS FAMILY HAD BEEN VICIOUSLY SLAIN IN THEIR HOME NEAR BUDAPEST. LEARNING OF THIS, I UNDERTOOK AN EXPEDITION TO BRING THEIR SLAYER TO JUSTICE.
“FOR THREE LONG YEARS, MY TEAM AND I SEARCHED FOR THE VAMPIRE KNOWN AS VALERIA. GUIDED BY REPORTS OF EACH NEW ATROCITY, WE SLOWLY CLOSED IN ON HER. AT LAST, WE TRACKED VALERIA TO HER MOUNTAIN LAIR. WE ENTERED AFTER DAYLIGHT AND FOUND HER SLEEPING—AS IF DEAD—INSIDE HER COFFIN.
“THOUGH I HAD EVERY INTENTION OF PUTTING VALERIA TO DEATH, I FOUND MYSELF OVERWHELMED BY HER BEAUTY AND WAS UNABLE TO PERFORM THE DREADFUL TASK. STILL, SHE HAD TO BE STOPPED. I COULD NOT ALLOW HER TO CONTINUE HER RUTHLESS CAMPAIGN OF MURDER. AT LAST, WITH THE AID OF A WISE MAN WELL VERSED IN THE ARTS OF MESMERISM, I GAINED CONTROL OVER VALERIA’S MIND AND THUS ENSLAVED HER TO MY WILL.
“AND SO I REMOVED HER FROM HER NATIVE TRANSYLVANIA AND BROUGHT HER TO MY OWN COUNTRY... OUR COUNTRY, YOURS AND MINE,
Good patriots, most of the people in the bleachers cheered and applauded.
When the noise subsided, Stryker continued his speech. “UNFORTUNATELY, DUE TO HER BLOOD-THIRSTY NATURE, VALERIA IS NOT A WELCOME GUEST IN OUR LAND. LIKE THE WANDERING JEW, SHE MUST FOREVER CONTINUE HER TRAVELS, NEVER STOPPING LONG ENOUGH TO REST, NEVER FINDING A HOME. AND SO WE ARE HERE TONIGHT, PAUSING BRIEFLY ON OUR JOURNEY TO PROVIDE YOU GOOD FOLKS WITH A CHANCE TO VIEW AN ACTUAL VAMPIRE ... VIEW HER
While he paused, I heard whispers hissing through the audience.
Then he said, “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I’LL MAKE YOU WAIT NO LONGER. HERE SHE IS! THE WORLD’S ONLY LIVING VAMPIRE IN CAPTIVITY! THE LOVELY! THE LETHAL! THE MOUTH-WATERING TEMPTRESS OF TRANSYLVANIA!
He flung his arms high and the audience erupted. As we clapped and cheered, several members of his black- shirted crew hurried into the arena. For the first time, I noticed that ropes were hanging down the canvas walls ... three on my side of the enclosure and three (I assumed) on the opposite side.
Each of the ropes was picked up by a member of Stryker’s crew. I spotted Vivian in the arena with the center rope from our side. She and the others walked backward, pulling. The ropes came off the ground, lifted away from the canvas, and stretched taut to the place where they were secured on top of the enclosure.
Stryker swung his arms down. It was a signal.
Vivian and the others tugged their ropes.
“VALERIA!” Stryker cried out.
All around him, crackling and whapping, the sheets of canvas fell to the ground.
Stryker was standing atop a steel cage. Its roof and every side were made of thick bars like a jail. It was raised a couple of feet off the ground on cinder blocks. It seemed to have a floor of some kind—maybe wood over more bars. Whatever the floor was, it seemed to be covered by a foot-thick layer of dirt.
Near the center of the floor lay a simple, wooden casket. Its lid was shut.
I took my eyes away from the coffin for a moment and looked around. Every spectator seemed to be staring at it.
For a while, the only sound came from the wind blowing through the trees around Janks Field.
Hands on hips, Stryker gazed down through the bars.
The coffin lid flew off as if kicked. I flinched. So did people all around me. Most of the audience seemed to gasp. A few people let out startled squeals. The coffin lid flipped over a couple of times and hit the dirt floor. Dust drifted up and blew away.
