Alex Van Helsing The Triumph of Death - By Jason Henderson Page 0,43

thin, the haze opening, and the glass cage came once more into view.

Now it was full of milky fluid, mostly water, and there seemed to be water streaming down the front of it as well, maybe in some thin track between two panes. This gave the cage an even more dreamy appearance, and as Alex looked down at the vapor that still surrounded his feet, he felt completely isolated from the world as he knew it, even the crazy world he had come to know.

Alex heard Sangster blow out a long, steady breath he had clearly been holding in. Dr. Kristatos stood with them, and now even she seemed hesitant.

The milky, hazy cage, full from top to bottom with water now, seemed empty, but the shadow moving in the back and the static howling in Alex’s brain told him otherwise.

Astrid and Alex each stepped forward, reaching out an arm to block the other. The milky substance began to churn.

The creature that was Lord Byron slipped like a shark through the water and crashed into the glass wall. His black hair swirled in the water as he flattened his claw-like hands against the glass. His eyes were open, and he was looking straight at Alex.

Kristatos held out a small microphone to Sangster and the agent shook his head, gesturing toward Alex.

Alex tentatively took the device in his hand, running his finger over a talk button. He looked up at the vampire, who whipped his head slightly to whisk away a strand of hair. He seethed, his unbreathing mouth open in the milky water. He had his nails against the glass as though he were planning to claw through it.

“Well,” Sangster said to Alex. “You wanted to talk to him. So talk.”

CHAPTER 15

“Tell me again why the guy who uses water as his main source of power is in a water tank?” Alex whispered to Sangster and Kristatos.

“He uses ice as his power,” Kristatos corrected him.

“Yeah, so shouldn’t he be in, like, a dry sauna?”

“You don’t need to whisper.” The scientist looked at the vampire floating against the glass, watching them. “He can’t hear us. But to answer your question, it’s actually safer this way. By encasing him in a full tank, any freezing he does is likely to surround him with ice and overwhelm him.”

“Likely?”

Kristatos breathed deeply and crossed her arms. “Well—”

“Look, we tried the sauna in the fifties, okay?” Sangster cut in.

“Okay, okay.” Alex looked at his hands and thumbed the microphone. It was now or never. If he waited any longer, he was going to lose his nerve. The last time he had been this close to the vampire, Icemaker had been holding him aloft and starting to cut Alex’s throat.

Click. “Hi, Byron.”

In the water tank, the vampire looked startled for a brief moment, then recovered. He flapped his arms, floating back and searching the wall with what appeared to be an amused curiosity. Then Byron spotted the black apparatus and pilot’s mask and floated toward it. He smiled a cruel, thin smile and made no attempt to respond.

Alex continued. “Long t—”

“Careful,” Sangster whispered, and Alex keyed the mike off.

“What?”

“Byron has no idea how long he’s been frozen; it’s better not to reference time.”

“Do you want to do this?”

“No. I’m actually sort of enjoying it like it is,” Sangster replied.

Click. “I’d like to say I’m sorry to wake you.”

“He can talk,” Kristatos said. “If he puts on the mask.”

Alex nodded, wondering how strange his voice must sound coming from a speaker under the water. He looked at Byron. “If you want to answer—”

“Van Helsing.” The voice came reedy and wet, burbling out of Byron’s mouth as he held the mask to his face. He had figured it out instantly, and sounded bored already. Alex shuddered, feeling as though his name had just been spoken by an evil wave.

Don’t you want to ask where you are? Alex thought, but he was looking in Byron’s red eyes and realized that even if Byron did, he wouldn’t ask outright. That would show vulnerability. Byron was determined to show that they had him exactly where he wanted them.

Byron drew back at once and tucked his head, preparing to ram the wall. Sangster quickly snatched the mike.

“There is a flowing stream of holy water on the other side of that glass. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Byron stopped himself, floating there, and came back to the mike. “Clever,” he uttered. He slipped the straps of the mask over his head so that