Ron Goulart - The Curse of the Obelisk

74 RON GOULART
She was studying Harry's face, still standing straight beside the chair. "I'm inclined to agree,"
Naida said. "Until you walked into this bedchamber, Harry, you didn't even know I was in
partnership with Anwar Zaytoon. Therefore, you couldn't have prepared silver—"
"You put a lot more faith in Bertie Pennoyer than he deserves," said Harry. "He didn't kill me as
instructed and he talked quite a lot about you folks before he escorted me off that damn train.
Talked about Zaytoon, about the secret of the obelisk and about you, Nadia."
"You're bluffing, just as Anwar—"
"I let you live before." His voice was harsh now. "That was a mistake. This time I won't be
sentimental."
She took a step back toward the table. "No, I don't believe you."
He raised the gun, aimed it directly at her. "Well, if this was a poker game, about now'd be the
time to call," Harry said. "You go for that gun, Naida, and I shoot you. With real silver bullets. The
kind no vampire can—"
"Damn you." She turned, ran suddenly for a window. Tugging it open, she dived out into the
darkness.
"Bluff worked," he said.
Jennie said, "Harry, she committed—"
"Nope, there are balconies along this side of the castle. I spotted them when I was casing the
place this afternoon," he said. "Naida's probably scrambling down the side of the tower now. Let's
go, since I want to get you out of—"
"You'll go nowhere," cried Zaytoon. He was fighting with his covers, gnarled hands clawing at
them. "I'll stop you myself."
The old man managed to throw the covers aside. With an enormous effort he rolled to the bed
edge and thrust his stick-thin legs out and to the floor. He stepped free of the bed and stood up.
There was a brittle cracking sound, and another. Both legs snapped and the bones came poking
through the yellow parchment skin.
Zaytoon gasped with pain but made an attempt to get to the table for the gun. Instead he fell to
the carpet.
More cracking, splintering sounds. His ancient body was crumbling, breaking up.
"My god, Harry," whispered Jennie.
"C'mon." He took her arm. "We still have to get Professor Stowe out of here."
Zaytoon was a tumble of twisted clothes and splintered bones. The nightcap had fallen free and
lay next to the chair leg, the tassle was powdered with the scaly dust that had been the old man's
skin.
"He was nine hundred years old," said Jennie as Harry hurried her across the room.
"Should've picked up a little wisdom in all that time." He opened the door.