Already Making a Spectacle
When Row Gibson—or rather, Phantom—stepped off the plane at Yeongjongdo International Airport, he clicked his tongue. The giant PDP screen hanging in the terminal was replaying the St. Mary's Hospital massacre on a loop.
"Already made quite a spectacle of yourselves."
He couldn't tear his eyes from the broadcast even while hauling a fairly large suitcase. Wilhelm, glued to his side and dragging luggage of his own, spoke up.
"Clearly the work of a vampire."
"The kind of bastard who'd pull something like that… Agni, maybe?"
Phantom dredged up an ominous name. Among vampires, the most dangerous enemies were Silvester the Jinma-hunter and Juyda the Jinma who fed only on his own kind—but Agni was a madman who ranked right alongside them.
"Master. Come to think of it, you've met Agni before, haven't you?"
"Yeah. A hundred years ago, was it? Once, in Sri Lanka."
Standing at the taxi stand in front of the airport, Phantom let out a dry snort. He'd rushed to Korea so fast he hadn't arranged a car. Looks like he'd be taking a regular taxi for the first time in ages—would that be all right? Korean cab drivers had a stubborn streak that even a vampire like him found faintly intimidating.
"Master?"
"Ah. Right."
He opened the door and climbed in. The driver, seeing foreigners, offered a clumsy English greeting.
"Welcome to Korea."
"Ha, hahaha. Ah, yes. Closest hotel for now? Mm. Did we book something, Will?"
"The Hilton."
"Hilton Hotel, please."
"Understood."
The driver smacked his lips, looking disappointed he couldn't overcharge someone whose accent was that flawless.
Se-geon sat numb, reeling from the knowledge that Jack-o'-Lantern had finally been murdered. Even if he believed he'd lost his conscience ages ago—yes. He didn't feel sorry for Jack-o'-Lantern. Unlike those Yankees who forgave everything just because someone was a child, Se-geon was an Easterner. But the other people who'd been dragged into a vampire mess and died—those deaths left him with guilt.
"I don't even need to think coldly about it. This isn't my responsibility."
On the fourteen-inch TV set up in the tiny room Kenneth had arranged, the screen kept showing bereaved families screaming over lost loved ones. Se-geon hunted for the remote. The television went black as if it had never been on—but the reporter's dry voice still left a long echo in the little room.
A tragedy of this scale… is the first such bizarre case since the founding of the nation.
Se-geon hurled the remote. It hit the bedsheet against the wall, spat out its batteries, and clattered to the floor. Unable to swallow his rage, he shoved himself up off the floorboards.
"Damn it. What the hell is Tetra Anax doing? Isn't stopping this exact kind of thing their job?!"
Tetra Anax—the vampire clan that hid the existence of vampires from the public and guarded the border between the Mad Moon and the real world. That was what Deok-yeon had told him, at least. And yet that border was crumbling right now, wasn't it? Of course it was the inevitable consequence of two mighty Jinma vanishing. Desire always ignored the existence of regulators and threw up waves.
Se-geon shrugged into his flight jacket, ready to leave the safehouse Kenneth Yang had prepared. If he wanted to know why this had happened so suddenly—why every human in that hospital had needed to die—finding Arjuna or Kenneth Yang would be the fastest route.
"Huh?"
Just as he locked the front door, Se-geon spotted a young man collapsed on the sidewalk.
"Hey!"
He vaulted down the stairs in one go and hauled the man upright. The guy was lying there as if he'd simply fallen asleep, but his clothes were clean and he had a bag—he didn't look like a vagrant.
"What kind of person is this?"
Bemused, Se-geon got him on his feet and shook him. Breathing was steady, but he had a fever. Still—a grown man collapsing just from a fever wasn't common.
"Mm. Better get him inside for now."
It was spring, but the pavement was still cold. Se-geon lifted the man and dragged him into the room.
The safehouse Kenneth Yang had arranged was a converted factory unit—what people called a beehive building. One multipurpose living-kitchen space, one bathroom, one bedroom: a simple layout, mostly rented monthly, packed with students from nearby H University.
Calling this a safehouse and dumping it on him was a little insulting, but when you worked with a black-market broker, this level of hospitality was better than nothing. His resident registration was already erased; if the other side stiffed him and ran, he'd have no recourse.
"Hmm. Was there water in the fridge?"
Se-geon opened the refrigerator. Inside: one half-used bottle of mineral water of unknown age, and the C-4 he'd bought from Kenneth Yang.
"…"
Come to think of it, this was no place to casually invite strangers. Japanese swords were strewn across the floor, and the closet was lined with rifles and ammunition—and he'd brought someone in.
"Well. Kick him out the second he wakes up."
Se-geon talked himself into it and laid the man on the bed. The body was solid, well-trained, prime of life—and yet he'd fainted in the street. Unable to shake his curiosity, Se-geon opened the bag.
"Heh. Taekwondo?"
He snorted at the uniform inside. The lettering on the dobok suggested an H University student. An athlete passing out on the sidewalk—now that was funny. Right then, the man woke up.
"Uuunh. Wh-where…?"
"Ah, you're awake?"
"Eh?"
"You were collapsed on the street, so I brought you inside for the time being."
Se-geon explained the situation to the flustered young man. The guy's face went scarlet. Being hauled into a stranger's place would be humiliating enough—but wasn't this reaction a little extreme?
"Um. Ah, th-thank you."
"Don't mention it. People should look out for each other."
"Ah, but what time is it…? Oh no—I'm in trouble."
The man shot upright. He'd already missed the start of class. Se-geon gave him a baffled look.
"Ah, thank you. But I think I'm late… I really need to go."
"Ah, sure."
"I'm Kim Chang-hyun. Really—thank you."
"Not at all. But are you okay? You were out cold on the ground."
"Ah, it happens now and then lately. I'm fine."
The man forced himself to his feet. Se-geon had been about to leave anyway, so he picked up his helmet.
"I'm heading out too—let's go together."
"Yes."
Chang-hyun followed him out, then flinched at the swords scattered across the floor. Of the blades Se-geon had taken from Deok-yeon's place, only a few remained—maybe four—but even a ranked kendo practitioner didn't usually keep four Japanese swords lying around for actual use.
"Ah. Hobby."
Se-geon pulled on his shoes at the entrance and walked out first. Leaving a guest alone in someone else's house would be rude, so Chang-hyun followed.
Se-geon swung onto the motorcycle and kicked it to life, then called to the still-startled Chang-hyun.
"You're going to H University, right?"
"Th-that's right, but—?"
"Hop on the back."
The moment Chang-hyun climbed on, Se-geon shot off. Not that far a distance, but far faster than walking or running. And while H University was nowhere near Seoul National in prestige, the campus was still fairly large—too far for someone who'd just collapsed to walk.
"Where to?"
"Eh?"
"Where to!"
"Ah—the old Humanities Building!"
Chang-hyun shouted it into the wind. Se-geon gunned the bike straight through the main gate and skidded to a sideways stop in front of the Humanities Building.
Screeeech!
"All right—I'm off!"
The instant he confirmed Chang-hyun was off, Se-geon tore away again. Before the other man could even get out a thank-you, Se-geon had already blasted off campus at high speed. The gate guard's stream of curses only made the exit look more exhilarating.
"Ah…"
Chang-hyun stared after him, dazed, then finally remembered the time and sprinted into the Humanities Building.
Just as Detective Jo had expected, an official directive came down from above first thing in the morning. A presidential order: do not, under any circumstances, stand idle in the face of the recent string of incidents. When disasters this large stacked up one after another, ruling-party support would tank—so the president's reaction made sense.
But who the hell stood idle because they wanted to? You needed at least a lead before you could investigate.
"No fingerprints, no traces, no witnesses. Nothing on the CCTV either. Unbelievable. It's enough to make a ghost wail."
Granted, the investigation was only a day old—but with a situation this uncanny, they needed a shaman more than a detective. The station interior looked, quite literally, like the aftermath of a bombing.
"Damn it. I'm writing my resignation."
"Senior."
"Don't stop me. The pay's a joke, the work is hell, and everyone treats us like pigs—why am I even a cop?"
Detective Jo stood up with a whatever-happens attitude. A night of overtime had left him frayed enough to say whatever came to mind; lucky the section chief wasn't around, or those words would have gotten him crucified. Detective Park looked awkward and glanced around.
But after the all-nighter, everyone wore the same face. Then the door slammed open and a equally disheveled conscripted policeman appeared, arms full of photocopied files.
"Autopsy results are in."
"Bring them here."
Detective Jo took the file and flipped through it. Cause of death: massive blood loss, as expected. The problem was that whatever had caused the bleeding had left almost no evidence.
There was a large wound on the foot. If blood had been sucked out through it, there should at least have been blood on the sock, right? The corpse showed no such stain. If pressure had drawn the blood out, the vessels should have ruptured—yet there was no sign of that either.
Meaning no one had cut the foot, drained the blood, and then dressed the body afterward. The blood had simply left the body of its own accord—and then vanished without a trace.
"If a vampire did it, shouldn't there be two neat little holes in the neck? Easy to spot. This isn't even a proper ghost story…"
Detective Jo suddenly thought of Detective Park and glanced at the next desk. Sure enough, Park had gone deathly pale and dropped the file.
"S-see? I told you it was a vampire."
"Shut up, you idiot. Where would vampires even be?"
"Then this body…"
"I don't know either."
Detective Jo said it irresponsibly. But even a scientist or a fortune-teller wouldn't have been able to explain this one.
Se-geon reached Arjuna, pushed open the door, and stepped inside. Mid-morning—right after opening, no customers yet—so Kim Seong-hui was sweeping the floor in a cleaning apron.
"My, my? There was a CLOSED sign on the door. Se-geon, you can't just walk in like that."
"Is Silvester here?"
He ignored her scolding and asked the question. She pointed upstairs instead of answering.
"Thank you."
Se-geon took the stairs to the second floor at a run and, as always, opened the door to Silvester's room—plastered wall-to-wall with The Simpsons.
Click!
The sound of a slide racking back, and the cold muzzle of a Desert Eagle pressed against his temple. Silvester stood beside the door in nothing but black pants, as if he'd just rolled out of bed.
"At least knock."
"No, I just—"
Se-geon glanced sideways. No matter how hard he tried not to care, the geometric patterns wrapping Silvester's body—the magic circles—kept pulling his attention. Tattoos?
"What are those?"
In the end he couldn't kill the curiosity and asked. Silvester arched a brow, opened the wardrobe, and pulled out his cassock.
"They're spells."
"For what? Something that blocks vampirization?"
"Who knows. Isn't it more fun when there's room for imagination?"
"…That's a line that can be read any number of ways."
Se-geon snorted at Silvester's deliberate evasion. The excommunicated priest spoke as he pulled on the cassock.
"So. What is it?"
"You saw the broadcast? Jack-o'-Lantern is dead."
"Ah. I even went and looked in person."
"Why kill him?"
"That's what I'm on my way to find out right now."
Silvester picked up the case beside the bed.
"Eh? Who are you going to ask?"
"Kenneth Yang."
If the Jack-o'-Lantern case had a single usable thread, it was this: someone had filmed a suicide video using TNT and then destroyed the evidence. Analysis of the TNT's emulsion composition had matched Korean Chemical product. Emulsion tests were notoriously imprecise, so identifying a manufacturer that way was never easy—but given the circumstances, Korean Chemical stock was almost certainly correct.
And if Jack-o'-Lantern had been nothing more than a child, where would the explosives have come from?
"You think that's how he got tangled up with a vampire?"
Se-geon climbed into the passenger seat. Silvester set the case behind the seats and settled behind the wheel.
"If the culprit is who I think it is, then yes."
"Who?"
"The Jinma Agni."
Silvester turned the key. Se-geon startled at the word Jinma and asked again.
"Why would a Jinma need to kill a kid? A full Jinma, and he still has to murder someone like Jack-o'-Lantern? Even I—"
"A Jinma like Phantom is extremely gentlemanly. But not every Jinma is Phantom."
Silvester clicked his tongue at the thought of Phantom. Yes—he had to admit Phantom was, as a vampire, the ideal specimen. Fully adapted to human society, far more constructive than the hunters who popped drugs, waved illegal weapons, and rendered vampires into more drugs. No one could honestly deny that.
"Then what kind of bastard is Agni?"
"He's desire incarnate. Among humans, he'd be closest to Sarhyuk. He eats people by any means necessary. As you've seen, he slaughters and consumes the innocent without a second thought. A creature like that would have even less trouble killing a little sinner like Jack-o'-Lantern."