Chapter Forty-nine

  The courtyard belonged in another time and place. Certainly not here in present-day Lake Elsinore.

  High stone walls surrounded us, all lined with small windows flickering with candlelight. Before us, cobblestone paths, interspersed with thick grass, wound through perfectly trimmed hedges and gardens of flowers. Along the base of the inner walls were stone walkways, complete with interspersed walkways. This could have been a Scottish castle. Or a monastery high in the Himalayas. The people milling about could have been monks deep in silent worship or prayer, or on their way to meditations. But we were in the deserts of Southern California, and the people moving through this courtyard weren’t people at all. They were Lichtenstein’s monsters. Every last one of them.

  “They look like zombies,” I whispered to Kingsley. I didn’t have to whisper loud. The big guy had pretty good hearing.

  And it was true, too. For every Lichtenstein monster who walked normally, two others lurched or limped or lumbered. I counted nine total. Most seemed to wander aimlessly, although some moved purposefully through hallways and under archways, disappearing into the various entryways deeper inside the castle.

  We followed our guide, who ambled smoothly enough, and seemed to be of one body—which, I think, would be preferable. I gave Lichtenstein credit for creating what he created. It couldn’t have been easy re-building a human being—or giving life to the dead. I knew the dark masters had helped him at some point. Still, the man was devoted to his craft. As evidenced by the walking dead around me.

  Some of the hedges, I saw, actually formed a central labyrinth. We passed the opening to one, and I spied a Lichtenstein monster seemingly stuck in one corner, his face pressed into the dense brush, his feet walking, walking. I wondered how long the poor bastard had been stuck there.

  We followed a cobblestone path past a small pond where, you guessed it, I spied a man-thing just emerging out of the water. Rather than going around the pond, the creature had walked through it. He didn’t seem to care. Hey, if he didn’t care, I didn’t care. I watched him cut across the grass, his shoulder knocking into a small tree. I found myself holding Kingsley’s hand, tightly. I might be a bit of a badass myself, but this—well, this was just too damned freaky.

  It was at that moment my cell phone vibrated. I keep said cell phone in my front pocket—never understood people who kept it in their back pockets—and saw immediately that it was a text from Allison.

  Tam Tam is on the move.

  My heart wanted to skip a beat, but it didn’t, couldn’t. Instead, I instantly felt sick to my stomach. My fingers flew over the keyboard.

  Stay close, keep me updated.

  Will do, babes, came her response.

  We crossed the courtyard and up some stone steps, where we were led along an exterior tunnel. Archways dotted the tunnel every ten feet or so. I didn’t see the point of such archways, but I guessed rich people had to spend their money somehow.

  Lurch opened a heavy-looking double door and stepped aside. I let Kingsley go in first and then followed behind. Our escort continued down a darkened hallway, and we followed like the idiots we were. A vampire, a werewolf, and Frankenstein—all together in one creepy castle at the edge of a lake with a real live lake monster. Where were Abbott and Costello when you needed them?

  That there were ghosts flitting through walls and drifting languidly down the corridor was a given. I knew Kingsley could see them, too, because we both stepped out of the way of one such specter who appeared up out of the floor and just stood there, staring at us. I quickly noticed a trend.

  “Most of the spirits are men,” I whispered to Kingsley.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” he whispered back, although his whisper might have sounded more like a guttural growl.

  “You just said that because I did,” I said. “Admit it.”

  He grinned and pretended to whistle. Once again, I wished I could slip inside his thick skull and see what the devil was going on there. But, alas, his thoughts were closed off to me.

  We passed many doors, some with light flickering under the heavy wooden doors. In some I heard speaking. In others I heard screaming. In still others, I heard moaning and weeping. Some a combination of all of the above. Kingsley could undoubtedly hear more of what was going behind the closed doors than me. Then again, I’d heard enough. I didn’t want to know what was going on. I didn’t like this place. Not at all. Not one fucking bit.

  We came to another door, set into another arch. If I never saw another arch again, that would be great. Our fearless and mute guide turned the lever, pushed it open, and what I saw inside was enough for even the demoness within me to squeal.

  It was, I was certain, the laboratory from hell.

  Chapter Fifty

  The lab resembled a morgue; that is, if a morgue was in the monster-making business.

  I counted no less than fourteen corpses stacked around the room. All men. All pale and stiff. Some had fabulous wounds: missing limbs, missing sections of skulls, concaved chests. There had been, I recalled, a mining accident not too long ago, and not too far from here, either. An underground explosion at a clay and shale mine that had resulted in a tunnel collapsing, with nine miners being killed. Rescue efforts took days. Big news. Some of these fourteen corpses showed signs of an explosion, while many had been clearly crushed. The remaining bodies had no discernible markings. Correction, the closest body to me, lying face up on a metal table, had a smallish bullet wound directly over his heart.

  Some of the dead were stacked ingloriously upon each other, arms hanging to their sides, looking miserable even in death. Most notable was what I didn’t see: the boy, Luke, was nowhere to be found, which, I think, was a good thing, considering that this room seemed reserved for the dead.

  The recessed center of the room, accessed by a four-step descent, featured only a single, metal table. Upon the table was a dead man. Standing next to the table was a living man wearing a surgeon’s magnifying goggles and holding a scalpel. Oh, and he was also holding a severed hand, which he casually dropped into a metal bin. As he did so, he looked up at us, smiling, his big fish eyes bright behind the goggles.

  “Am I really seeing this?” I asked Kingsley.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  I really wanted to freak out, knowing to do so was the proper reaction. But the more I saw of the bodies, the wounds, the cutting instruments, the splatters and pools of blood everywhere, the more interested I became. So very interested...

  By all counts, I should run screaming from the room. But there I stood in the doorway, transfixed. My stomach, curse it to hell, growled.

  “Jesus, Sam, was that you?” whispered Kingsley.

  “Don’t judge me, mister. I’ve seen what you eat when the moon is full.”

  “That will be all, Rufus, thank you,” said the man in the goggles. He carefully set aside his scalpel, pulled free his gloves and pushed up his goggles which, admittedly, made him look less like a homicidal maniac.

  Our ferryman guide—apparently named Rufus—nodded once and exited, and never once, from the boat ride to the elevator ride to here, looked our way or acknowledged us. The door shut quietly behind him, leaving us alone with the mad scientist.

  “Samantha Moon and Kingsley Fulcrum, welcome to my house of horrors. Or, perhaps, my castle of corpses.” He chuckled at this, speaking in a surprisingly strong French accent.

  I nearly said “domicile of the dead,” but held my tongue, reminding myself this was no time for my sometimes adorable wit.

  He made his way up the steps and greeted us with firm handshakes. He did not sport an aura, always a sure sign of strangeness. His hand, I noted, was warm. I would kill to be warm again.

  He bowed slightly. “Victor Lichtenstein, at your service.”

  Lichtenstein was not very tall, which ruled out werewolves, who tend to creep up in size over the decades and centuries. He did, however, look like a reject from The Big Bang Theory. Nerdy, off-putting, awkward. He said to Kingsley, “Franklin is one of my better creations.”

  “He doesn’t take kindly to being called a creation.”

  “Which is exactly why he is such a success. Most of these brutes you see lumbering through this castle, or wailing in their cells, are incapable of caring what they are or why they are here.”

  “You’re creating more.”

  Lichtenstein chuckled. It was the chuckle of a proud and modest father. And, perhaps, that of someone who had completely lost his mind, too. Hard to say for sure, as the bastard presented himself fairly well. “I’m always tinkering, looking for better and better ways to bring my children into the world.”

  “Children?”

  “Do not scoff, Mr. Fulcrum. Some of us hunger for companionship.”

  “And some of us make friends and get married or join online chat groups.”

  He might have glanced my way. “And for some of us, none of those are easy. Some of us suffer tragic, overwhelming shyness. And some of us have loved and lost, and have decided to never love again.”

  “You are speaking of Mary Shelley,” said Kingsley.

  “Mary Wollstonecraft to me, but yes. I loved her and she betrayed me.”

  “Frankenstein.”

  “An atrocious book, and wildly inaccurate. Fiction at its best. She had, after all, seen but a glimpse of my experiments.” He took in some air, which seemed to be his first breath since joining us. “But where are my manners? Would either of you care for a nightcap?”

  I looked at Kingsley. He looked at me. Of one thing I was certain: we had obviously seen too much here in Castle Lichtenstein. I doubted the good doctor had any intention of allowing us to leave.

  So, hell, I might as well enjoy a stiff drink.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  We were in a smallish room.

  A massive tapestry hung before us. The tapestry looked old enough to belong in a real castle. The scene woven into it was that of a fox hunt, with dozens of hunting dogs, horsemen, and one solo fox legging it out. I hoped the little guy made it.

  The sitting room wasn’t quite a library, but almost. A number of books filled some shelves on one side. Most of the books were, predictably, ancient-looking, but I did spot one or two Stephen Kings and Michael Crichtons. No surprise there.

  A lush carpet was underfoot, so deep and comfortable that I nearly removed my sneakers. What I would give to run my toes through it. Big picture, Sam. We sat in high-back chairs made of the softest velvet I’d ever had the pleasure to rub up against. Each of us had a glass of wine, a French syrah and the deepest red I’d ever seen. I enjoyed the crap out of it. A dry wine, I tasted hints of blackberry and maybe even cherry. That it also looked like blood was something I was trying to ignore.

  “You were hired to find a lake monster, am I correct, Ms. Moon?” asked the doctor. This was the first time Lichtenstein had addressed me.

  I blinked and set the glass down on a claw-foot side table. There was no coaster, just a richly embroidered doily. “I was, yes.”

  “And how is your investigation proceeding?”

  “It’s ongoing,” I said.

  “Any leads?” he asked.

  “There appears to be something there.”

  “I imagine so. That poor boy. Those fishermen. Terrible.”

  “I’m surprised I didn’t see the fishermen in your laboratory,” I said.

  “Oh, they were far too gone to be of any use to me, although I suppose I could have parted them out.”

  “Jesus,” said Kingsley, shaking his head and taking a healthy chug from his wine.

  “It is a dark business, Mr. Fulcrum, I agree. But a rewarding one, nonetheless.”

  “Rewarding, how?”

  Lichtenstein stared blankly at Kingsley. “I create life, Mr. Fulcrum. What could be more rewarding than that?”

  “You create monsters.”

  “Say that to Franklin. Say that to my other successful creations. You met one such creation at Ravioli’s. Pierre is a world-class chef, and I couldn’t be more proud of him. For every ten simpletons I create, there is one monumental success.”

  “And what do you do with the, ah, simpletons?” I asked, rather enjoying my own wine. It had a hearty, earthy, slightly metallic taste.

  “You see them here, on the grounds. I have use for them, obviously. Some are strong as oxen. And I apologize, Ms. Moon, that you had to experience that firsthand. Gunther is house security who patrols our grounds.”

  I realized Gunther was the one who had beaten me so badly.

  “What if I had been, I dunno, someone lost and needing directions?” I asked.

  “I sincerely doubt someone lost and needing directions would have scaled a fifteen-foot high fence. But, to answer your question, Gunther is trained to look for auras, or the lack thereof. He is trained to snuff out any supernatural threats.” He didn’t say it, but I suspected I knew of which threats he meant: alchemists. He continued, “I’m pleased to see that you’ve made a full recovery from the ordeal.”

  If anything, he seemed more pleased that his bodyguard monster had performed his job astonishingly well, even if it meant giving me the beating of a lifetime. Ten lifetimes. Lichtenstein finished the last of his wine and asked if we’d like another round. Kingsley seemed all too happy to do so. My boyfriend seemed to be enjoying himself entirely too much. Last I checked, this wasn’t a social visit. There was a kid missing, possibly dying, and the big oaf was drinking our host under the table. Suddenly irritated, I declined another glass. Truth was, the wine was upsetting my stomach a little.

  “Is the wine not to your liking, Ms. Moon?”

  “I’ve had enough, thank you.”

  Kingsley sat forward, almost spilling his recently-topped glass. “So how many of your creatures work in town?”

  “Many of them, Mr. Fulcrum. I own many shops and restaurants, many of which provide working opportunities for my children.”

  “But why?”

  “Why not? Those who are capable of working need to be stimulated. Many of them have been with me from the beginning and have learned valuable trades.”

  Kingsley studied the doctor for a moment, eyes narrowing. He wasn’t quite buying the explanation. Neither was I.

  I said, “Who invited us to visit tonight?”

  “I did, of course. Some of my more competent creations are quite adept with modern technology. I was called immediately when two of the soulless entered the restaurant. A quick description was sufficient to know who, exactly, was at my establishment. You can imagine my pleasure and delight. I thought it only fitting to invite the two of you over for a nightcap.”

  Absolutely none of this was making sense, and to top it off, my stomach was gurgling with, I assumed, anxiety. Although that would be a first for me.

  “And they all live here?” I asked.

  “Of course. They are my children, Ms. Moon. Do your children not live with you? Now, a small handful have left the fold. And I miss each tremendously.” He let his words hang in the air. He didn’t look at Kingsley; then again, he didn’t have to.

  “There is such a thing as free will, doctor,” said Kingsley. “Franklin made his choice.”

  Lichtenstein nodded at that, pondered it, and said, “There is also such a thing as gratefulness. My other children are grateful, so much so that they...” He let his voice trail off.

  I deduced the direction he was going, and so did Kingsley. “That they worship you,” said Kingsley, who didn’t bother disguising his contempt. Kingsley and the not-so-good-doctor seemed to have some history, and I let it play out. Why should I intrude? Besides, it wasn’t every day that one got to see a real-live werewolf and, for all intents and purposes, the real Dr. Frankenstein, work out their grievances.

  “Perhaps some see me as...”—he tried to look humble—“... a sort of god, yes.”

  “And do you remind them that you are only a lonely scientist looking to make friends. Emphasis on make.”

  “Oh, I am looking to make much more than friends, Mr. Fulcrum.” The doctor reached over and refilled his glass of wine. “I’m looking to create a whole new race. Emphasis on create.”

  Kingsley rolled his eyes. Perhaps a little drunkenly.

  “Yes, I might sound crazy, Mr. Fulcrum. I might even sound like the world’s loneliest man. But I have been given the keys to the kingdom, so to speak. I have been given the ability to create life where there was none before.”

  “And you would be their god.”

  “Is that so bad? My children have a natural affinity to me. I haven’t quite understood that. It is a rare offspring who leaves the fold completely.”

  A sudden thought occurred to me. “You use your own blood to help galvanize them back to life.”

  “Of course, Ms. Moon. My blood and another. All combined under the right conditions, with the right science, with the right intent.”

  “Intent?” I asked.

  “A powerful intent can move mountains, Ms. Moon. In this case, help spring forth life.”

  Coming from anyone else, this would have sounded like quackery at its best, but I had seen his monsters. I had seen their apparent loyalty as well. What else would explain the compound filled with freaks? Indeed, Dr. Lichtenstein was clearly onto something. Whether he was onto something worthwhile or not, I didn’t know.

  “Why here?” asked Kingsley. “Why in Lake Elsinore?”

  “Why not? It’s a fairly quiet town. Most people keep to themselves. Most people stay away from the castle, too. Those who don’t, get run off.” He glanced at me. Or beaten to a bloody pulp, his glance seemed to say. He continued: “We’ll pick up shop someday, when the time is right. For now, we have our space, and I am very, very at home here in this modern-day castle. Fitting, if you ask me.”

  “Cliché, if you ask me,” said Kingsley.

  “Perhaps, but this home gives me pleasure, and so do my children, and so do all my future children. Speaking of which, I have something of Franklin’s that I’ve been meaning to return to him. Something I am sure he would appreciate having.”