Chapter Two

Lance stared at her for a moment. "He… calls himself Lord of the Vampires? Or he is?"

"Well, a fair percentage of the vampire population in Europe and North America," said Daisy. "Do you find that hard to believe?"

"Fuck if I know," said Lance. "Last summer I fought an ancient Egyptian pharaoh and a bunch of giant robots. I guess vampires doesn't seem like too much of a stretch."

"You'll have more questions," Daisy said. "We'll talk on the way." Then, as Lance shrugged and turned back towards the jeep, she added, "Wait. We'll take mine."

Lance glanced at the car she indicated, and his jaw dropped open. It was low and black and gleaming, all sleek lines and sudden sharp edges. It didn't just look fast, it looked downright predatory. "God damn," he murmured.

"I told you my job had its perks," said Daisy, keeping all but a tiny hint of smugness out of her tone. "If you're good, I might even let you wash it. Now get in- we've got a lot of ground to cover tonight."

For the first half of hour the drive, Lance was too busy enjoying the speed and sheer awesomeness of the car to say much, but eventually he turned to Daisy. Casting an appraising eye over her, he finally said, "Aren't you a little young to be running SHIELD ops?"

Without taking her eyes off the road, Daisy removed one hand from the steering wheel and flipped him off. "How old were you when you started running a secret mutant terrorist team?" She asked.

Lance shrugged. "Fair enough. So, vampires- what's the deal there?"

"They like blood, shadows, mesmerizing the living, and raising up the dead as minions to do their bidding. Less fond of sunlight, wooden stakes, and this is the big one- mutant blood. They can't stand it- burns them up from the inside."

"Sounds like you'd do better with someone with a different power," Lance opined. "Aren't Summer's eye beams solar powered?"

"That option was considered," Daisy said. "Ultimately, Fury wasn't sure that Mr. Summers would be willing to use his eyebeams in a situation where he knew they would prove fatal."

"What's that supposed to say about me?" Lance asked.

"Your personality profile suggests that when the time comes, you'll do what's necessary."

After that, there didn't seem to be anything to say for a long while. Finally, Lance asked, "So where are we headed?"

"A small town in Northern Massachusetts, to start with."

"Vampires live in the New England sticks?" Lance asked.

"Not any of the important ones- not since the seventies, anyways. No, we're going to Dunwich Asylum, to see the only living man who might be able to tell us where Baron Blood is."

Lance considered this. "There isn't any chance that he's a doctor, is there?"

"I'm afraid not. The Thinker is held in the maximum security section of the Caligari Wing, and there's a very good reason for that."

"The Thinker? Christ, you don't mean-"

"Yes. The one the media calls 'The Mad Thinker.' Fair warning- I wouldn't call him that to his face."

"I always kind of wondered what happened to him after the trial. Hell- we used to tell ghost stories about him in the Brotherhood. That's the guy we're going to for advice?"

"Oh, he's plenty dangerous- even behind bars. But once you start to understand the way he thinks, he can be an enormously valuable resource. Which is why SHIELD shuffled him quietly out of view in rural Massachusetts. Damn it- what's this now?" The highway ahead was blocked by flashing red and blue lights, and a long line of stopped traffic, slowly maneuvering their ways through a detour.

Daisy reached over and opened the glove box, removing a small, blocky pistol, which she held by her right leg. "If shooting starts," she instructed Lance, "Keep your head down. The car's armored enough to keep you safe if you don't stick your head next to the window, and there's no point tipping anyone off to your involvement yet."

"Seems a little extreme for a traffic accident," Lance remarked, peering out the window.

"Rule one," Daisy said. "No coincidences."

The two sat in tense silence as Daisy carefully maneuvered the car in and out of the various merging lines of traffic, both keenly searching for any sign of hostile activity. In the event, they came through the detour with no worse damage than a half-hour or so delay.

"So… no coincidences, huh?" Lance finally asked, as they accelerated again.

Daisy shook her head slightly. "I don't like it," she said. "I wanted to be in and out of Dunwich before sundown."

"So step on the gas," Lance suggested. "I know this things can do more than seventy."

"I'd rather avoid a traffic stop, thanks," said Daisy. "Theoretically, the plates on this car should trace back to a flawless cover ID, but there's always the chance that someone noticed it in Bayville."

"It is pretty flashy for a spy car," Lance said. "Don't get me wrong, I love a Bond Movie as much as the next guy, but I would've figured SHIELD would go for something more discreet."

"Look at it this way- if you saw this car roaring down a street, what would your first thought be?"

He considered the question. "I guess I'd probably say it was some rich guy's toy," he said.

"And if you saw a beat up old station wagon turn on a dime or go zero to sixty in under two seconds?"

"I'd probably figure that something sneaky was going on," Lance said. "Okay- I get the point. Is that how you convinced Fury?"

"That, and I stapled the requisition form to my after action report for a three week stakeout of a suspected HYDRA outpost in a paper mill. I still dream about that smell sometimes." She wrinkled her nose, and Lance couldn't help but chuckling. "Anyways," she continued, "If I'm James Bond, in this scenario, what does that make you? Halle Berry?"

Lance winced. "Really? Straight for the Brosnan movies?" He shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Let me guess, you're a Roger Moore fan?"

"Connery," said Lance, "All the way. How is this even a question? It's not. And if it were, the answer would always be Sean Connery."

"So not Lazenby?"

"Now you're just screwing with me." Lance glanced at Daisy, whose face was carefully set. "See, that's not cool. You can't abuse your secret agent poker face to mess with me like that."

Daisy allowed herself to crack a grin. "Fine," she said. "Sean Connery. So does that make you Honey Ryder?"

"Look, you're cute and all, but I don't see this going that way. I don't even own a white bikini."

At that Daisy allowed herself a guffaw. "Find some music, Alvers," she suggested.

Lance examined the dashboard skeptically. "I'm not going to launch a torpedo or something, am I?" He asked.

"Don't worry- those buttons are all on my side," Daisy reassured him.

Lance glanced askance at her again, but was once more unable to read her expression. Tentatively, he flicked on the radio, and then with more confidence manipulated the dials until the stereo began issuing forth with the White Stripes' "Seven Nation Army," while the car roared towards the Massachusetts state border.

Dunwich was a tired little town in rural Massachusetts. Daisy and Lance drove past several miles of abandoned buildings- some of them evidently once quite grand- with only the occasional house showing any signs of recent upkeep, before they turned off onto the dirt road that lead to the asylum.

Dunwich Asylum itself was an enormous brick building in the High Victorian Gothic style, complete with brooding grotesques and leering chimeras, made eerier still by the long shadows cast by the setting sun. Lance looked over it critically as they approached. "Doesn't exactly seem like the kind of place that would help make you any saner," He said, eying a particularly fearsome visage that peeped at him from under the eaves. "No, wait- I get it." Lance glanced over the building again this time noticing the occasional gleam from lenses and antennae, as well as other complex looking equipment which he could not put a name to. "So let me get this straight- all the fancy architecture helps hide the security equipment? Who the hell do they keep in here? The Red Skull?"

"You're not too far off- the Caligari Wing has functioned as a secret SHIELD detention facility since the end of World War Two. In general, it's used to house individuals who have proven cooperative but who are too dangerous to be let out in the world at large. I'm impressed you picked up on the equipment so quickly- it's pretty well hidden."

Lance grinned. "I've had a little experience. You should try sneaking into the X-mansion after curfew sometime."

Inside, the asylum was all soothing, primary colors. The receptionist, whose name tag declared her to be Ethel, glanced at them curiously as they entered. "Hi!" Said Daisy, in a high, chipper voice totally unlike that in which she'd spoken to Lance so far, "I'm here to see my Aunt Petunia."

Ethel's eyes widened slightly. "Of course, ma'am. Right this way- you will need to step through the metal detector. Facility procedure, I'm afraid."

"I understand," said Daisy. "You're just doing your job." She stepped through the metal detector, made a small noise of distress as it went off, and emptied several dollar's worth of change out of her pocket.

Lance followed her through the security checkpoint. "Aunt Petunia?" He asked under his breath, pinning his visitor's badge to his shirt.

The receptionist picked up a phone and spoke into it briefly. There was a distinct click as a heavy metal door opened slightly.

"It's a code word," Daisy said, pulling the door open and stepping through. "As far as most of the staff is concerned, it means that I'm from a family of wealthy patrons here to visit a relative who's not officially on the records in order to spare us embarrassment. They'll look the other way and keep us off the official record."

She stopped to consult a sign, listing directions for the Group Therapy Room, Patient Dormitories, Water Therapy Room, Cafeteria, and finally the Caligari Wing. "You haven't been here before?" Lance asked.

"I don't make a habit of visiting killer geniuses, no," Daisy said. "But don't worry. I know the protocol."

Suddenly the lights went out, plunging the windowless corridor into darkness. After a brief moment, they went back in.

"What was that you said earlier about coincidences?" Lance asked.

Daisy began running down the corridor. "We need to get to the Thinker- now!" She shouted. Lance broke into a run after her, only to pause as the lights once again went out.

"That's the emergency generator going out," Daisy said, as a set of dim lights flickered on along the hallway. "Whoever's doing this obviously knows the layout of the building."

They pounded up a flight of stairs, and came to another security checkpoint. The thick metal door hung open, dangling from one ridge. A guard lay slumped over the security desk, blood seeping from the wounds on his neck. Another lay against the wall, clutching a pistol.

Daisy moved to the desk. "He's dead," she announced. "Damnit- the guards on the Caligari Wing are SHIELD."

"Ah- Daisy? This one's not dead," Lance said. Daisy whirled around, to find the other guard back on his feet, levelling his pistol at Lance's head.

"Allow none to pass. Kill any who come into this room," the guard said, in a shrill monotone.

Daisy drew her own weapon and fired in an instant, and blood flew from the guard's shoulder. The gun fell from his hand, and Lance dove forward, grappling with him.

"Allow no one to pass! Kill any who come into this room!" The guard screamed. Lance bore him back, slamming him into a wall, and driving a fist into his gut. The guard shoved Lance back, and headbutted him. The two crashed together again, and this time Lance bore the guard to the ground. They rolled about for a moment, and then Lance managed to break away, and scramble to his feet.

The guard, who was still muttering the same refrain, tried to stand, but Lance kicked his arms out from under him, and then delivered several more kicks to the man's ribs. The man fell prone, and Lance drew back his leg for another kick.

"Enough," said Daisy, setting an hand on his shoulder.

Lance turned to her, surprised. "You're kidding. He's one of them!"

"Allow… no one," coughed the man on the ground.

"He's mesmerized. He'll snap out of it come daybreak. Now move! And keep your eyes open- whoever did this is probably up ahead."

The Caligari Wing resembled a prison more than an asylum. The walls here were bare concrete, and the doors to the rooms off of it were all of metal bars. The cells were also empty, but the hallway contained another two corpses, their hands locked around each other's necks.

Lance nodded towards them. "We find whoever did this, you have a plan for making sure that's not us?"

"Don't swallow any of their blood. Don't make eye contact. And whatever you do- keep blinking." She pointed towards the gun holsters on the hips of the dead guards. "If you're feeling under armed, this would be the time to remedy that."

"Haven't ever been much of a fan of guns. In my experience, they're usually pointed at me. You think they're likely to help with vampires?"

Daisy shrugged. "I've yet to meet anyone that got better at fighting with a bullet in their leg."

They rounded a corner, to see a figure standing before one of the cells, speaking in a low voice. The occupant of the cell, just out of sight, replied more loudly, "I'm afraid, however, dear Count, that our conversation must come to an end. I expect these two are here to present a prior claim to my expertise."

The figure whirled, and stepped forward, into the dim glow of the emergency lighting. He was tall and pale, dressed in a flawless black tuxedo. Blood stained his lips, and his eyes flickered with hellfire. "Count yourself lucky, mortals," he said, in an accent removed by centuries from anything the subjects of his address might know, "I have drunk my fill already this night. You may leave with your lives if you go- now!"

Daisy nodded slowly, as if considering, and then, without any hint of her intentions, raised her gun and fired three shots into the vampire's chest. He glanced down, evidently with more irritation than distress, at the blood staining his jacket.

"Idiot mortal child!" He proclaimed. "Have you the least inkling of who I am? I am Count Varnis- the slayer of thousands, the lord of night and fog. I have drank the blood of warriors and princes, and it has made me mighty! COWER BEFORE ME, THAT YOUR DEATHS MAY BE SWIFT!"

Lance glanced at Daisy. "He's a talker, huh?"

"He does seem to have that manner."

"All right, Count," Lance said. "Let's rumble." He stepped forward, slamming on foot into the ground, and thrusting his hand, palm out, at the vampire. The floor surged and bucked like a living thing, lifting the vampire off his feet and throwing him against the wall. He fell heavily to the floor.

"Abomination! Witchbreed scum!" Varnis rose off the ground and regained his feet, going from a supine to an upright position without any intermediate steps. "You will pay for that. Treatises shall be written on your suffering!"

Daisy crossed the distance between them as he ranted, and leapt, driving her foot into his stomach. It was apparently without effect, as was the followup blow with the side of her hand to his throat With a noise of impatience, Varnis flicked his wrist, sending Daisy flying across the hallway. Lance drew on his power again, but Varnis leapt forward, stretching out arms that seemed, suddenly, to be dark leathery wings, as well.

Lance stumbled back, but Varnis was on him in an instant, seizing him by the throat, lifting him off his feet, and slamming him back against the bars of an empty cell. "Now, freak, let me remind you why humanity learned to fear the night!"

Behind him, Daisy, who had climbed back onto her knees, raised a hand. The air between her hand and Varnis's head seemed to ripple and distort, and Varnis let out a brief choking sound. His grip on Lance's throat tightened, even as he slowly toppled to the ground.

It was the work of a moment to pry the fingers loose, and Lance sat up, massaging the red marks on his throat. "What did you do to him?" He asked, looking at the prone vampire, from whose nose blood was starting to leak.

"I induced a major subcranial eruption," Daisy replied, retrieving her pistol.

"You blew up his brain? You didn't tell me you could blow up people's brains."

"Always good to have something in reserve."

"Most elegantly put, Agent Johnson." The voice from the shadowy depths of the cell came again. "And my compliments on a battle well fought. But I would advise you not to rest on your laurels just yet- that which is undead does not easily die, and even now, the Count's shattered brain reforms itself. I estimate he will be back on his feet in three hundred twenty-nine seconds."

Lance and Daisy approached the cell, a stocky man with stringy red hair and heavy, blocky features, wearing a green jumpsuit, stepped into the dim light of the hallway. "Or, if I may- an alternative." He had one hand resting on a wooden chair, and now he seized hold of it, adroitly turning it upside down, and removing one of the legs, which proved to have been sharpened to a wicked point on the top end.

He extended it, blunt end first, through the bars. "A little preventative I laid in, for just such an occasion. I was beginning to think that I had miscalculated that little traffic incident, and I was going to have to use it myself."

"That accident on the interstate?" Lance asked. "You did that? How?" As he spoke, Daisy took the stake.

"Oh, it's the easiest thing in the world, once you understand the maths. A stock tip to my jailer here, a letter to a newspaper editor there. I hope you will forgive the delay, but I had to be certain that you would not be here and gone before sunset."

Behind him, Daisy plunged the sharpened stake into the cadaverous chest of the vanquished vampire. "How did you know my name?" She asked.

The inmate grabbed the bars of the cell and thrust his face against them. "Why do you persist in questioning my abilities? I am the Thinker! I did the math! I know who you are- and who your father is. I know where you came from, and why you're here. I know how you'll die- and how the world will end!" He stopped abruptly, and stepped back, wiping his brow. "I apologize. It has been a trying day. Now, allow me to illuminate the situation."

He stepped back into the shadows, and stooped down, retrieving something from the floor. "You know, when I first requested batteries, my jailors assumed that it was part of some elaborate escape attempt. Ridiculous, of course. As I eventually convinced them, I have no intentions of escaping. I'm quite comfortable here."

The object in his hands sprang suddenly to light- a crude lantern, furnished out of copper wire and bed springs, linked to a row of Double A batteries. He carefully set it down on the lopsided chair. "As you can see."

Besides the chair, the lantern, and a bed, there were two things of note in the cell. The first was an enormous pile of books. Lance made out titles such as "A Million Random Digits, with 100,000 Normal Deviates," "Chaotic Dynamics," and "A Twentieth Century Perspective on the Pnakotic Manuscripts." Then his eye was caught by the other notable feature- namely the complex formulae scrawled on the three walls in chalk.

"Ah, my work. Not a full picture, by any means, you understand," said the Thinker, for Lance had no doubt that this was he. "For that, I would need a prison cell roughly the size of Neptune. No, this is just a few reminders to myself, a few placeholders to let me clear my mind a little. All the real work takes place up here." He tapped his forehead "But you aren't interested in my methods. You came here for my information. I assume you know the protocols, Agent Johnson?"

Daisy nodded.

"Excellent. Then let's begin."