Chapters 12--Epilogue

Chapter 12: Got Wood?

“Are you sure this is the place?” Steve asked Tarin. “I mean, I’ve seen worse neighborhoods, but only because I’m an occultist.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Tarin said, stopping in front of a large red door. “The real estate is cheap and Buck cares nothing for appearances.” She knocked.
“Have you met this man in person at least?” Steve said, doubtfully. “Because if this was a cunning vampire ploy, I would be very, very, not surprised.”
“Well, I haven’t met him, as such, but I saw an ad in the paper. ‘Buck Steelham, Carpenter, Custom Woodwork and Finishing.”
“Where did you find this paper? In your local erotic supply store? Because it sounds to me like---”
The door was then opened by a short, burly man with an open mouth and a squint.
“Um,” Tarin said, “Mr. Steelham?”
The man narrowed his eyes further, which Steve hadn’t thought possible, and said “Bssbussy.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Boss’s busy. Workin. No extra work see.”
“Ah, well, could you tell him Tarin the Righteous is here?”
“Ah said, ‘Sssbussy.’”
Tarin and Steve exchanged a glance. There was clearly no getting around the man, who looked like he was nine months pregnant with a small barn, and was clearly stupid enough to sleep with a small barn to begin with. They heard a voice from within.
“Hamburt? Who’re ya talking too?”
“Speople.”
“Damnit—hang on whoever y’all are,” the voice called, and suddenly a tall, muscular man with sandy hair and (inevitably) a flannel shirt appeared. “Hamburt, just you go sweep the wood shavins for me, then have your lunch.”
He turned to Tarin and Steve and looked at the appraisingly. “He’s a good boy, bit slow. My brother, you see. What can I do for you?”
Tarin proferred her hand. “I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr. Steelham. I’m Tarin the Righteous, and this my friend Fr. Stephen. We’re trying to prevent an uprising in the world of the undead and I thought maybe you could help us.”
His handshake was firm, yet surprisingly gentle.
“Undead, is it? Huh. And I thought my days in that line of work were over,” he sighed in world-weary manner. “Come on in then. We’ll see what we can do.”


“Voluptua? Are you home?” Katie knocked on the door nervously. She was getting more an more unsettled by the whole state of affairs, and Voluptua quite scarred her. She couldn’t find Roquefort or Lucretius anywhere but had gotten directions from Withers to Voluptua’s townhouse. No one was answering. Everyone seemed to have forgotten her.
She decided to go see what Lucretius was up to. Vampires, she thought, might be a little too much for a beginner.


Steve, Tarin and Buck were drinking black coffee and sitting around a beautiful wooden table that Buck had made with his own hands. . It was a good table. It was a table on which you could eat dinner with your family, a table on which you could set a foamy mug of beer while you stopped drinking to teach your son how to play catch so he wouldn’t become gay. It was a table that would vote for John McCain, if tables could vote, which they couldn’t, probably because they tended to be rather brown in color. A damn fine table.
They were having a fine time, too: Steve found that while he and Buck may not have had everything in common, he at least hadn’t been alive for a thousand years and didn’t try to kill him.
“And I held her in my arms then, but I knew it was too late. There weren’t a drop of blood left in her. I won’t say I wept, but--” Buck took a swill of his coffee—“God, there are time when I wish I could. I had to give up chasin them bloodsuckers after that. Not if they were hurtin the people I love.”
“God, I know what you mean,” Tarin said, “I lost a good dachshund that way.”
“Celibacy is the answer,” added Steve.
“Too red-blooded,” said Buck said, setting his mug down. “But back to this stake. I’d know if I had it, right?”
“Well gosh, I don’t know,” Tarin said. “Steve, did the prophets say anything about that?”
Steve shrugged.
Tarin narrowed her eyes. “Fr. Stephen! Are you keeping something from us? From the mission? From OUR QUEST?”
“Honesty,” said Buck, “is the best policy.”
“Alright, alright, they said that it would make itself apparent when the moment was right. Are you happy?”
“I just don’t see why you’d hold that back from us,” said Buck.
“It just seemed a little over the top,” Steve groused.
At that moment the sound of irritated, condescending voices floated through the sawdust-scented air. Steve looked out the window: sure enough, the sun had gone down.
“What is that ghastly smell, Voluptua?”
“I imagine it’s the scent of people who work for a living. Just keep walking.”
“I don’t understand why you two know so much about this and I don’t. Highly suspect, I say. Moreover, I believe you two are plotting to prevent me from attaining the stake, because I know the way you think, and it’s very selfish.”
“Oh, are you still talking?”
“You’re a bitch and no one loves you. Also—oooh, is that man pregnant with a small barn?”
Voluptua, Lucretius and Roquefort stepped into the workroom and surveyed it in the manner one might examine a backed up toilet. Buck stood up.
“Now I don’t want trouble from you lot. I know what you are, and who you are and what you’re after, and why you are and when you are. And I think it’d be best if y’all just left,” he said.
Roquefort parried this thrust of diplomacy with an impatient kick at stack of boards. “Wrongo! We’re here to kill you.”
“I was afraid of that,” said Tarin, also standing. “If we’re going to finally throw this down, you should know that I take no prisoners, and Lucretius, you’ll understand if I don’t spare your life.”
“Fickle! Women are fickle. Fickle as a pickle,” grumbled Lucretius, who did not look particularly alarmed.
“Well, you’ve certainly aged, Buck,” said Voluptua. “I wonder if it’s done anything to improve your flavor.”
“You look as pretty as a peony, just like always. A lecherous, malicious, soulless and depraved peony,” said Buck, glaring at her.
“I say, you know what would just be hilarious?” said Lucretius, to the room at large, “If one time we run into a man and it turns out Voluptua hasn’t slept with him at some point! Oh me and my funny ideas.”
“Look, just give us the wretched stake, you flannel-encrusted yokel, and we’ll save you from Voluptua’s evil clutches,” said Roquefort.
“No, let’s kill him anyway. I want to,” said Voluptua.
“Oh ho! A little unfinished business, hmmm? Baring a grudge, are we? Things maybe didn’t turn out the way you’d intended for once, eh?” said Lucretius, in a voice radiant with hope and schadenfreude.
“I’m getting bored. Are we vampires, or the parent-teacher-association welcoming committee for returning students who have had familial troubles? Just kill the man, Voluptua,” said Roquefort, kicking again at the pile of boards.
A sudden intense quiet descended over the room like rohypnol clouding the mind of a fifteen year old.
“What? Why are you all quiet? Do I have the blood of a raven-haired virgin in my teeth?” Roquefort stared, peeved, at the assembled company. Then he followed their gaze and looked down at the pile of planks he had been kicking.
There, in a beam of moonlight, on the floor, was a long, thick, oaken stake, covered in strange markings and looking remarkably pointy.
“Oh,” said Roquefort.
Several things happened very fast. Roquefort, Tarin and Lucretius all dived for the Wooden Stake of Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia and Sometimes Y, followed by Stephen and Buck, who felt obligated to assist Tarin in a two-against-one fight. Stephen couldn’t exactly figure out what was going on in the scuffle, but before he had even gotten out his holy water pistol Lucretius had sprinted out of the door, closely followed by Tarin, and Buck had been thrown out the window by Voluptua, closely followed by Voluptua. Roquefort then kicked him in the stomach, possibly to look like he was doing something.
“Damnit,” growled Stephen, sitting up. “I don’t have the bloody stake. Was that necessary?”
Roquefort was peering out the window. “No, no trace of them. I wonder what she’s going to do with him? Inventive woman, Voluptua, you have to give her that.”
Stephen aimed his holy water pistol at Roquefort. “If you try to kick me again, I will squirt you with holy water.”
Roquefort turned. “Oh I don’t want to kill you. D’you know, I’ve gotten quite used to having you about? Anyway, wouldn’t do much good, you haven’t got the stake.”
“What’s going to happen with that? Aren’t you worried, what with it’s being the one thing that can permanently kill you, and all?” Stephen stood up warily.
Roquefort sat at the table and lit a cigarette from a pack of Marb Reds which were lying there. “Scenic little shit heap, isn’t it? Anyway, it could go one of two ways: Tarin gets the stake from Lucretius, finds her super lover of her life person, and kills me, or Lucretius keeps the stake, unites his powers with Tarin’s, and becomes ruler of the undead.”
“Is that a bad thing for you?” Stephen said, sitting at the table.
“Hummmm,” said Roquefort. “I haven’t exactly thought about that. I’ve been running around on this quest, trying to prevent both Tarin and Lucretius from getting the stake, sleeping with various beautiful women, getting us out of the messes that Lucretius gets us in, trying to oppress and destroy the working man, but do you know what? I’ve never really stopped to think, what DO I want? What does Roquefort want?”
“What do you want, then?” Stephen asked, cautiously.
“I don’t know! It’s all so confusing! God, what a tangled web we weave!”
“Quite.”
“Oh! I’ve just thought of something!”
“That you want?”
“No! Tarin needs Buck to kill me! He’s her lover who owns the stake! Hahaha! Voluptua’s probably ripped him to shreds by now. How roaringly convenient!”
Steve sighed. “I liked Buck. He was slightly less insane than anyone else I know. He probably doesn’t deserve whatever it is Voluptua’s done to him.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have been in his workshop when she came to kill him, now should he?” said Roquefort. “Maybe that’s something I want. To sort of stay out of harms way and watch this great soap opera we call life.”
“It gets lonely, just watching,” Stephen pointed out.
“No it doesn’t. We’ve been doing it for centuries.”
“Who’s we? You and Voluptua?”
“No! Lucy of course. The times we had---”
Roquefort stopped as if he’d just thought of something.
“Roquefort,” said Stephen, “am I correct in assuming that you have decided that you do not want Tarin and Lucretius to get married and rule the undead world and that you mostly hate Tarin because your best friend is obsessed with her?”
“Yes! Yes I have!” Roquefort leapt up. “I’m invigorated with vigor! We have to stop Voluptua from killing Buck! Tarin must marry him, not Lucretius!”
“But won’t that make it easier for Tarin to kill you, should she get her hands on the stake?” Stephen said.
“It’s a risk that must taken! Time is of the essence! To Voluptua’s den of iniquity! We shall charge forward like knights rescuing a beautiful damsel, except that she’s evil, and we’re actually rescuing somebody from her instead! Huzzah!”
Stephen paused for a moment. He realized that he and Roquefort, against all odds, had ended up on the same side. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go fight the forces of darkness.”

Chapter 13: Back to the Multiverse

Voluptua had not, of course, ripped Buck to shreds. She had whisked him away to her pleasure dungeon, although more because that was her general base of operations than because she wanted to use it for its intended purpose.
“Sit down, sit down,” she waved a hand at Buck. “I’m going to keep you here a moment while I sort something out.
“Um, are you intending on strapping me down? These chairs are covered in restraints.”
“Do I intend to strap you down, Buck. Do I intend to,” Voluptua corrected, glaring into the distance. “And no, sit wherever, or stand, I don’t care.”
Buck settled into the least problematic of the chairs available. He had a fairly good idea how this scenario was going to turn out. “So, Miss V. Seems you have me at your mercy yet again.”
“If by ‘yet again,’ you mean, ‘as usual,’ then yes, yes I do,” Voluptua said, leafing through a book that she had left on a tray of whips. “Well now, according to this, tonight is the night. The stars are aligned.”
“Oh, I think we both knew that,” Buck said, wishing she’d fastened the straps after all. It added to the atmosphere.
“And yet—sexual union is not apparently necessary,” Voluptua muttered.
“Um. It, err, isn’t? What union?” Buck asked, then added, “And if you think I’d lay down with a creature like you, you’d be mistaken. This time.”
“Shut up Buck,” said Voluptua, briskly, “Now listen. There’s a stake, right, which you apparently have, or had, until Lucretius got his hands on it. Heh. Yet the stake is no good on its own; the stake-wielder, heh, must be balanced by a counterpart in order to effectively dominate the black underbelly of creation. Do you follow?”
“Yes,” said Buck, who was in fact starting to suspect this evening was not going to go the way he had thought it would.
“And... there is something else which seems to have fallen into place… but my, how heavy-handed. Traditional I suppose. Well, Roquefort too has his uses. Thoughtful of him in his bullheaded way to help us with that one.”
“...Excellent?” Buck said.
“Now,” said Voluptua, “how shall I make sure you do not assist Tarin in her quest to claim to control of the stake?”
“Um,” Buck said, “was that rhetorical? Also, aren’t you worried about Lucretius?”
“I would be if he were competent, or if Tarin was seriously about to consider some sort of union… you are the hitch in my plan.”
“You have a plan?”
“I always have a plan,” Voluptua said. “I carry plans like other women carry tampons.”
“Eww,” Buck said. “Look. Why don’t you just strap me to this chair, for old times’ sake, and we engage in some creepy metaphorical sex, and then while you go off and be dastardly, Tarin comes to rescue me. That seems like something which would happen.”
“Those days are over, my good man,” Voluptua said, “Anyhow. You go rescue Tarin.”
“Does, uh, she need rescuing? Maybe we should rescue Lucretius? Make it a fair game, you know, sportsmanship?”
“You’ll be rescuing her from me, you idiot,” Voluptua said, “At which point—no, I’ve done this before. I’m not telling you.”
“Awwww.”
“Now run along and rescue her! Or don’t. I could use an early night.”
“Voluptua,” said Buck, “I think we both know that was a lie.”
“I know,” said Voluptua, “I was being sporting.”

Buck ran along the rain-drenched streets, to Tarin, where his heart lay. He had deduced that Voluptua was up to something. His first clue had been her refusal to tie him up. Buck knew women. That was a bad sign. And then there had been the “I’m not telling you.” If Buck knew anything about the undead, it was that when they told you they weren’t telling you something, they meant it, except when sometimes they didn’t.
At any rate, even if he wasn’t going to play into her hands, he felt he ought to be around when whatever she was up to went down. In case someone needed a good calm voice of reason, or a solid, well-deserved punch.
And yet—some piece of the puzzle was rubbing him the wrong way, like how he would feel if a queer person accidentally touched him. He was pretty confident that Tarin would wrest the stake from Lucretius, but was Voluptua not worried about Roquefort? Or the priest? Or him, for that matter? It would have been better manners, Buck reflected, if she had at least acted a little intimidated by him.
He stopped for a moment, troubled somewhat by the problem that he had no idea where Tarin was. It was time to rely on his innate street smarts. Tarin would be following Lucretius. But where would Lucretius go? What did demons do once they got hold of a stake? Where did they go? He looked up to the pitch black sky.
“If there is an Almightly,” he murmured to himself, “it would probably be in a lot of people’s best interests if He helped me out right about now.”
The night was quiet and foreboding. Buck scanned the street dejectedly. No one else was out and about. No one else was worried about the Wooden Stake of Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia and Sometimes Y. Only a solitary frog hopped along through a puddle in the gutter.
“I didn’t think you got frogs out here,” muttered Buck, scratching his lightly stubbled (yet still well-groomed) chin. He paused. “IHOP!”

“IHOP!” Roquefort told Stephen. “The one downtown is open all night! Lucretius loves that place! Also, it’s a portal to the Netherworld!”
“Why would an IHOP be—you know what? Never mind. I don’t care. Let’s just get a cab,” Stephen said.
“Why get a cab—when you can turn into a bat!” Roquefort said triumphantly.
“Roquefort, I can’t turn into a bat. Also, your clothes would fall off and then what would you do when you got there?”
“Ha, what wouldn’t I do? Get it?” Roquefort was back in the best of spirits. “Anyway, in the time it took me to make that rather witty joke (I think you’ll agree it was witty), I have decided on a different course of action. Give me your hand. And don’t look at me like that. I haven’t got a promise ring, if that’s what you’re after. Now now, you know you’ll like it.”
“Roquefort,” said Stephen, “does it ever even begin to enter your head that sometimes people aren’t trying to sleep with you?”
“Oh I don’t get much sleep!” Roquefort said. “Raarw, demon lover! It’s my new catchphrase!”
And with that, he grabbed Stephen’s hand and lifted them both into the night sky.

“Lucretius,” Tarin said, warily, “you efficiency thus far is actually starting worry me.”
“As well it should, my luscious avenger!” Lucretius said. He turned to Katie. “I hope the ropes aren’t too tight, dear. You understand this is how such things usually work.”
“Not at all!” Katie effused. “Honestly, I really never thought this would happen to me, but gosh, destiny is destiny, isn’t it!?”
“See? Even my virginal sacrifice is being helpful. Now if I could but persuade you to take my hand in unholy union…”
Tarin sighed and looked around the deserted IHOP. The staff, completely unsurprised to learn that their establishment was a portal to the netherworld, had most obligingly cleared out, and Katie, completely unsurprised to learn that she had become enmeshed in an ancient prophesy had most obligingly allowed herself to be tied to a table.
“Are you going to wait until it is exactly midnight?” Katie said hopefully. “Also, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how much blood do you need?”
“Oh I’m actually waiting until our mutual friend here agrees to be my accursed bride for an eternity of blissful damnation. Can’t open a portal to the netherworld without a counterpart. Otherwise things just get ungodly out-of-whack.”
“So not too much blood?” Katie asked.
“Dash it all woman, how should I know?” Lucretius snapped. “I suppose we’ll just let you keep bleeding until the thing opens.”
“Um,” said Katie.
Lucretius brandished the stake in manner that could only be described as suggestive. “Now, Miss Tarin, are you going to tell me that an eternity of everything your heart and mind and body could desire isn’t a little tempting?”
Tarin sighed. “Lucretius, you would never give me what I truly desire.”
“What? What?” Lucretius looked hugely affronted. “I do beg to differ. If this is the work of that damned Voluptua, so help me--Why, give me but a mere five minutes--”
“I’ve got five minutes,” said Katie, helpfully.
“No,” Tarin said, ignoring the virginal sacrifice, “What I truly desire is the death of my sworn enemy, Roquefort. Only then can I stop roaming the night. Only then can I find peace. Then my quest will be at an end.”
“Oh,” said Lucretius, looking a little put-off.
“Lucretius,” Tarin said, “this is how it has to be. This is according to the prophecy. How many times has Roquefort insulted your intelligence, or taken credit for your brilliant ideas?”
“Many,” sniffed Lucretius.
“How many times has he accepted your help, only to leave you to chase some woman? Or Voluptua?”
“Especially Voluptua! I hate her!” snarled Lucretius.
“Hey! Voluptua and I are BFFs,” said Katie, from somewhere in the depths of denial.
“How many times has he eaten my mother?” continued Tarin.
“Constant—oh, well, once, I suppose, but that’d do it,” mused Lucretius.
“It’s all so clear!” Tarin said. “The prophecy is more accurate than I thought. I will avenge my mother and complete my task as a vampire slayer by killing Roquefort. And through unholy union with you, I will balance you evil, not to say disorganized tendencies and be a force of moderation in the black world of the undead. I do hope Fr. Stephen and Buck aren’t offended in any way.”
“Oh, I’d just file them under ‘don’t care,’ if I was you,” Lucretius said. “Still. Your logic is good…”
“My logic is brill—mphhh!” Tarin was cut off abruptly by a tight, cold hand around her neck.
“Did you really think I was going to let this happen?” Voluptua asked, frostily.
“Voluptua!” hissed Lucretius. “God how I hate you!”
“No sentiment was ever more mutual,” Voluptua responded. “Now untie that girl.”
“See? See? BFFs!”
“Voluptua, what you fail to realize is that this is an impasse,” Lucretius said. “You have my partner in fiendishness, but I have the Wooden Stake of Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia and Sometimes Y.”
“Unhand her I say!” yelled Buck, bursting onto the scene like breath of mountain freshness.
“Or what?” Voluptua asked mildly. “Anyway, do you really want Lucretius to go through with this?”
“Well—” Buck paused. “Voluptua, this isn’t very sporting.”
“I have an ingenious solution!” said Lucretius. “A duel! A duel, I say! You and me Buck, a duel for Tarin’s hand and the Wooden Stake!”
“Since you already have the stake and since that bloodsucking hussy has Tarin, I can’t see my way clear to how that would benefit you.” Buck said, overcome with a pang of honesty.
“Yes, but Voluptua likes a bargain,” Lucretius said. “Can the three of us, you, me, and Tarin, agree to give her some kind of diplomatic immunity, no matter who wins this scuffle? And I don’t say this lightly. She is easily my least favorite creature under the sun.”
“Mmmph!” agreed Tarin.
“Seems a fair bet, actually,” said Buck. “I’ll agree. I’m a man of my word. If Voluptua wants to trust you to yours, that’s her business.”
“Oh, I trust Lucretius not to mess around with prophecies. I agree. Tarin, blink twice if you too agree. There now; that’s settled.”
“I agree!” Katie added.
“What sort of duel shall this be?” Lucretius mused.

Chapter 14: Strange Bedfellows

“What sort of duel are they planning?” whispered Roquefort to Fr. Stephen, from where they were squinting into the IHOP.
“I don’t think they’ve decided yet.” Stephen peered in through the window. “I also have no idea who has the upper hand in this situation. Do you think Lucretius has some ingenious plan? Or is he just making things up as he goes along.”
“Ah, well, I’ve always been more of the brains of the outfit,” Roquefort said. “Let me think. Our objectives are the same, yes? Stop Tarin’s vicious and uncalled for plan to kill me, to say nothing of wresting the stake from Lucretius, wipe Tarin and Buck from the face of the earth, then follow it all off with good round of shagging. Not with you. With Voluptua. But you can watch.”
“Roquefort, convenient as this alliance is, I fear we may have different objectives, in the final reckoning. If we can agree on a way to stop Lucretius, then I’m not averse to preventing Tarin from killing you, but I’m going to have remain opposed to your unrestrained carnage,” Stephen said. “Also, I don’t want to watch. Anything.”
“Why are you so damn short-sighted? Think, man, think! Tarin causes nothing but trouble and must be destroyed.” Roquefort rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Look here. I promise not to do anything to Buck or that girl. You let me kill Tarin. We call it good. Eh?”
“No, not good,” Stephens aid, but an idea was creeping into his mind. “Don’t you think, though, it would be a good idea if Buck won the duel?”
“Errr, in that it would prevent Lucretius from allowing Tarin to kill me, yes. In that it would allow Tarin to kill me, no.”
“If we help Buck win, Lucretius will be free from Tarin’s clutches, and he may be amenable to some sort of compromise,” Stephen pointed out. “Have you got a better idea?”
“Well, no, no I haven’t. But I don’t see how we can help Buck win some kind of duel.”
“Stephen frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose that depends on how they are dueling.”

“There’s got to be some way we can duel,” Lucretius mused. “Are you sure you don’t play chess?”
“Too damn elitist,” said Buck. “And I thought most demons played the fiddle. As part of the job description.”
“That’s Satan you’re thinking of. Not much room for promotion in the realm of eternal fire, I’m afraid. How are you with riddles?”
Buck narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I’m okay with riddles, I just don’t trust that you’d think of a fair riddle. It’d be something like, ‘What has four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the evening?’ and then the answer would be ‘frankencreature whose legs I had been breaking off and reattaching.’”
“Oh you are good,” said Lucretius, impressed.
“Voluptua could ask one,” said Buck. “Then we could race.”
“On absolutely no account will she be in any way involved in this competition!” snapped Lucretius. “I’d sooner answer a riddle from that meddling priest!”
“I accept your offer,” said Fr. Stephen, marching into the IHOP in a moment of brilliant timing. “I’ve thought of one already.”
“Is it something you have to know Latin to answer?” said Buck suspiciously.
“No,” said Fr. Stephen, “in fact, I think I can say that how long or short a time you’ve been alive, or what languages you’ve studied have nothing to do with the answer.”
“I was being facetious,” said Lucretius. “The priest is obviously biased in Buck’s favor. I refuse.”
“You’re probably right,” said Voluptua, “Buck would know pretty much anything the priest could come up with. We’ll find someone who would allow you a sporting chance of victory.”
“Allow me? Allow me?” Lucretius said. “I don’t know what I was worried about. I’ve got centuries on Buck. Ask anything, priest.”
Fr. Stephen shot Voluptua a suspicious look, but she seemed impassively bitchy as ever.
“Alright, here goes, but if you think the question is unfair, you have to tell me before the other person thinks of an answer,” said Stephen. “Who was the 1960 NASCAR Cup Series champion?”
“Oh! I know this one,” Buck muttered. “I watched it with my dad—”
“Rex White,” Lucretius said. “Victory is mine!”
“How could you possibly know who won a NASCAR Cup Series?” asked Stephen.
“Oh it’s played on a constant loop in Hell,” Lucretius said. “Anyhow, fair’s fair, piss off Buck.”
“Well, that isn’t what I intended on happening,” Buck said, “but fair’s fair. I’m a man of my word. And I do appreciate your trying to help me out, Father.”
“Yeah, nice try,” Lucretius sneered. “Come on, Tarin. Let’s fulfill some destiny!”
“No!” Buck said. “The prophecy can’t be fulfilled without you, Tarin! Without you, that stake is useless.”
“Wrongo,” said Lucretius. “Without her, I would just unleash chaos. The purpose of the counterpart is to balance the power of the stake-bearer. I’d prefer to be in control, but I’d settle for being king of a whirlwind. Demons are good at chaos.”
“I hate to say this,” Tarin said, “but it seems that this is the prophecy. I’d be morally remiss not to attempt to impose some restraint on Lucretius, and besides, I’ve wandered this world so long, searching for a man who was my equal. They get boring so soon! But most importantly, I will finally, finally, finally be able to kill Roquefort.”
“Of course you will, my eternal darling!” Lucretius said. “Now, Katie, if you’d be so good as to hold still, we’ll just open that portal right on up and get down to business.”
“Errr,” said Katie, “eeek? Voluptua?”
“Sorry dear,” said Voluptua, “I’ve got myself all sorted out.”
“Oh don’t worry, I’ll start with a just a small incision,” said Lucretius.
Under the neon hum of the IHOP’s lights, Lucretius took the Wooden Stake of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia and Sometimes Y, and made a quick scratch on Katie’s arm. Stephen, Buck, Volutpua stared as a single drop of blood trickled down the Stake’s shaft. And then, in the middle of cheap linoleum floor, a crack started to open.
“Um,” said Buck.
A hot, crimson light shone out of the widening chasm and the lights in the IHOP seemed suddenly dim. The windows and doors look farther away, and Stephen couldn’t help but notice that Lucretius and Voluptua looked a lot scarier in the new, bloody light.
“What is that smell?” asked Buck. “That doesn’t smell like fire or brimstone.”
“Those are the moist and steaming boysenberries of the multiverse,” said Stephen grimly. “Nothing good is about to happen.”
“Roquefort is going to come and rescue us,” said Katie, who was in excellent spirits again now that she hadn’t been bled to death.
“Well that would certainly make a bad day worse,” Voluptua muttered.
The chasm stretched between Lucretius and Tarin, bathing them in the unholy light of universal conquest. Lucretius stretched his hand across the divide. “Take my hand,” he said, “and we’ll make it, I swear.”
“Sorry guys,” Tarin said, “but it must be done.” She stretched out her hand.
“Stop! I’ve come to save you!” Roquefort yelled, busting through the doors like a breath of crypty freshness.
“Oh God,” said Stephen.
“Out of idle curiosity, Roquefort, old thing,” Voluptua asked, “who are you saving?”
“Does that matter woman? Does that matter now of all times? Lucretius! Throw the stake into the fire—oh. I see you’ve stolen my snack and used her as a way to open the portal to the netherworlds, after all that talk about being morally upright. Rich, I call that! Rich!”
“Oh, I suppose you don’t see the difference between a light scratch for a higher good and a self-indulgent much. I don’t know why I thought you would,” Lucretius sniffed haughtily.
“And I don’t know why I thought you would be able to see that using a person as a means, rather than an end in and of themselves, must either be acceptable or universally unacceptable! I at least am consistent and open in my wrong-doing,” Roquefort returned, hotly.
“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few!” Lucretius snarled. “Anyway, your selfishness and condescension are over, now Roquefort. I’m sorry it had to be this way, but I know you’d have done the same. Come, on Tarin!”
“Oh I don’t blame you,” Roquefort said, philosophically, “I really would have done the same thing; you’re quite right. It will be some small satisfaction to know that our last argument ended with you using Mr. Spock as a counterthrust to Emmanuel Kant.”
“Yes, well—what? Spock? What are you talking about?” Lucretius stared at Roquefort in irritation. “You idiot. You really think that thought was first posited by Mr. Spock?”
“No, no I don’t,” sighed Roquefort. “The thought itself is a rather reductionist expression of utilitarianism, and most people think that John Stuart Mill came up with it. I know he’s your favorite philosopher. But Mr. Spock said it that way first! And I wanted to annoy you one more time, so there!”
“Come on, Lucretius, you’ll have the last laugh once you take my hand give me the power to kill him,” Tarin snapped. “The portal won’t stay open forever!”
“You remembered my favorite philosopher?” quavered Lucretius.
“Oh God,” said Tarin.
“Of course, Lucy, how could I forget? You loved the ones with all the good intentions.”
Lucretius hesitated. “Damn it all, I can’t do this! Sorry, Tarin; I’ve had an attack of Platonism! Roquefort, come and rule the moist and steaming multiverse with me!”
“Lucy,” said Roquefort, “I thought you’d never ask.”
He reached out, took Roquefort’s hand, and the two of them leapt into the fiery chasm.
The floor of the IHOP closed with a bit of a pop.
“What,” said Tarin, “the hell.”
“Do you mean to tell me that two sexually ambiguous nosferatu are now in charge of all the supernatural on this earth?” gasped Buck.
“Technically, yes,” said Voluptua, “but the chances of them getting anything done are… slim.”
“Does anyone want to untie me?” asked Katie.
Buck did the honors.
“What now?” mused Tarin, somewhat deflated. “I haven’t killed Roquefort and he and Lucretius are likely to do God knows what to the universe.”
“Have a little more faith in the checks-and-balances system, my girl,” said Voluptua, yawning a little.
“But the stake is gone! How can I kill Roquefort now? It’s my destiny!”
“There are other hellfiends out there,” Stephen said, consolingly.
“And you’ve still got me,” said Buck. “I’m right here where I always was.”
“Well, yes, I do have you” said Tarin moodily. She felt that this was how it was supposed to end, somehow, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bored by it.
“You don’t sound happy,” Stephen observed.
“I don’t know. I sort of enjoyed having an arch nemesis,” Tarin reflected. “It’s hard to be a vampire slayer without one.”
“I suppose,” Stephen said, “but it’s going to be hard to top Roquefort. He was a good nemesis. Maybe you ought to take it easy for a while.”
“Or train me!” Katie added. “You could train me to be a vampire slayer!”
“Uhhhhh,” said Tarin. “I dunno. I guess I could turn in my chain mail. What do you say, Buck?”
There was a loud silence. Everyone looked around. Buck and Voluptua had disappeared.
“Buck! Voluptua has taken Buck! We have to save him!” yelled Tarin.
“He might have gone consensually,” Stephen suggested.
“Not on your life!” Tarin said. “Katie, you come too. You might learn something.”
“Gosh!” said Katie.
“Gosh,” said Stephen.
“After them!” said Tarin.
“Do you honestly think you can kill Voluptua?” Stephen asked. “I mean, she’s a slippery character. I must also point out that she seems to have had a hand in more than one aspect of this little peccadillo.”
“I don’t know exactly how she could be defeated, I guess,” Tarin said. “Huh. Well, we better go consult the Prophets.”
“Why not?” mused Stephen. “They make as much sense as the rest of you.”
“Hey guys!” Katie gushed. “You know what we form? A triumvirate! An evil-fighting triumvirate!”
“You’re getting the hang of this Katie,” said Tarin, “I can already tell. Now we better be on our way! God only knows what she’s doing to him!”


Epilogue

“Our first move should be to make all crucifixes illegal.”
“Crucifi, surely?”
“No, that’s a verb. I crucify, you crucify, they crucify.”
“Don’t be dim! I meant the plural of crucifixes was crucifi. With an ‘i.’”
“That only works if a word ends in –us. It’s Latin. Believe me, I was alive then.”
“Well so was I!”
“I don’t recall you getting up to much grammar.”
“I don’t recall you getting up much at all. All you did was get fed things by nubile slaves and give people bad ideas.”
“Well you have to give people bad ideas in sentences that they understand! Also, every time I caught up with you, you were messing around with that wretched Greek!”
“Greek is full of interesting ideas. Beautiful language.”
“You know who I’m talking about!”
“I most certainly do not!”
“Ha! Ha! Tenth muse my foot!”
“Oh her! I thought you meant--- well never mind.”
“What? What? What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing. I’m not telling you nothing.”
“So you are telling me something?”
“What?”
“That was a double negative.”
“I don’t think I’m the one focusing on the negative here.”
“I’m through with this argument.”
“Alright. Fine. Me too. You know who we haven’t seen in a while? Voluptua. I thought it would be nice to catch up.”
“No! No! Absolutely not! I despise her! You know I despise her!”
“You always assume I know things about you that I don’t.”
“I can tell when you’re being willfully obtuse!”
“I’d rather be willfully obtuse than just obtuse!”
“Well, you’re both!”
“No one loves you!”
“No one loves you!”
“Fine! One thing I think is clear: fewer churches.”
“Oh, that is a good idea.”
“And garlic.”
“I like garlic.”
“You only eat it to irritate me and we both know it.”
“Everything revolves around you!”
“Well, it rather does now, doesn’t it?”
“You and me both, Roquefort. You and me both.”