Free Hard Spell by Justin Gustainis Page A

wanted to cause trouble wouldn't pick a police station, especially the Supe Squad, to do it.
      Probably.
      Still, I was suddenly aware of the weight of the Beretta on my right hip, with its standard load of eight silver bullets that had been blessed by the Bishop of Scranton. Part of me wished the old vamp would give me an excuse to use it.
      "The handshake, yes?" Vollman said to me, after a moment. "It was the handshake that revealed y... true nature... to you. I wondered at your reason, since you do not, forgive me, Detective Sergeant, strike me as the friendly type."
       Friendly? I wanted to say. Hey, I'm one of the friendliest guys around – except to the bloodsucking undead.
      "How I know doesn't matter, Mr Vollman," I told him. "I asked you a question: why do you care about George Kulick and what happened to him?"
      Another long look. I was about to tell Vollman that I was getting tired of his theatrics when he said, "The reason I am interested in the fate of that particular wizard..." He turned his left hand over, palm up, to reveal an old, faded, but unmistakable tattoo of a pentagram. "...is because I am a wizard myself."
     
    Karl and I looked at each other for several seconds before we returned our attention to Vollman.
      "I've never met anyone with your particular… combination of attributes before," I said.
      "Nor have I, and I have lived far longer than either of you gentlemen. However, there is nothing, in theory, to prevent someone from living in both worlds, should he choose to. Mind you, in my case the choice was not made freely."
      "How do you mean?" Karl asked.
      Vollman shrugged his thin shoulders. "It is a long story, but, in brief, I was already an accomplished wizard when I was attacked and… transformed... by a vampire. That was in the year 1512."
      I noticed that Karl was frowning. "I don't get it," he said. "Somebody who can work magic should have been able to handle a vampire without too much trouble."
      "Magic is not something that can be invoked at a moment's notice," Vollman told him. "Had I been given the time to prepare a defensive spell, I would surely have prevailed. But I had no inkling that a vampire was in the vicinity, and so was caught unawares."
      "Which also explains how Kulick was subdued by whoever tortured him," I said. "He didn't have a spell, or whatever, ready to use against his attacker."
      "Very likely," Vollman said, nodding. "Unlike a gun or a knife, magic cannot usually be brought to bear at a moment's notice. Although, given time for preparation, it can be a very potent weapon, indeed."
      "You said Kulick was taking care of some valuable object," I said. "I assume that's what was ripped off from his safe by whoever killed him. Care to tell us what it was?"
      Vollman looked at his hands for a long moment. "I suppose I must, since it is of vital importance that it be recovered. George Kulick was entrusted with a copy of the Opus Mago-Cabbilisticum et Theosophicum , written by Georg von Welling around 1735 – although parts of it are older. Far older."
      "Don't think I know that one," I said. "But I've got a feeling that it isn't this month's selection from the Book of the Month Club."
      "The work is not well known, even among the cognoscenti," Vollman said. "The Opus Mago, as it is usually called, is quite rare. Only four copies are believed still in existence. It is – and I beg your indulgence of the cliché – a book of forbidden knowledge."
      "I get it," Karl said. "Like the Necronomicon ."
      Vollman looked at him. "The Necronomicon is a myth, a product of the fevered brain of that writer Lovecraft," he said scornfully.
      Karl shrugged. "Some people say different."
      "And some people," Vollman said, "once said the Earth is flat. Indeed, I knew several such individuals personally." He made a shooing away gesture with one hand. "But whether this Necronomicon exists is irrelevant. The Opusago , I assure