“As far as I can tell,” Massha answered, also choosing to overlook the gag order, “they buy it by the bottle.”
She pointed to a small group of vampires sitting on a low wall merrily passing a bottle of red liquid back and forth among themselves. Despite our knowledge of the area, I had subconsciously assumed they were drinking wine. Confronted by the inescapable logic that the stuff they were drinking was typed, not aged, my stomach did a fast roll and dip to the right.
“If you two are through sightseeing,” I hissed, “let’s try to find this Dispatcher character before someone invites us to join them for a drink.”
With that, I led off my slightly subdued assistants, nodding and waving at the merrymaking vampires as we went. Actually, the goings on looked like a lot of fun, and I might have been tempted to join in, if it weren’t for the urgency of our quest . . . and, of course, the fact that they were vampires.
Following the instructions I had gleaned from the couple on the road before their panicky flight, we found the Dispatcher’s place with no problem. Leaving Guido outside as a lookout, Massha and I braved the stairs and entered the Dispatcher’s office.
As strange as Blut had appeared, it hadn’t prepared me for the room we stepped into.
There were hundreds of glass pictures lining the walls, pictures which depicted moving, living things much like looking into a rack of fishbowls. What was more, the images being displayed were of incredible violence and unspeakable acts being performed on seemingly helpless victims. The overall effect was neither relaxing nor pleasant . . . definitely not something I’d want on the wall at home.