"Robert Weinberg - Logical Magician 01 - A Logical Magician" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weinberg Robert)

The last remark was a stab in the dark, but it hit the target. "How do you know
what's planned?" asked Walsh suspiciously. "The ceremony won't take place for nearly a
week."
"Two can keep a secret," declared Jack solemnly, "if one is dead. There's a lot
more than two in your motley crew."
The vampire grimaced, distorting his features into something barely human. "I
warned von Bern that his inept band of half-wits would ruin everything. Idiots, all of them,
in their fancy motorcycle jackets and studded boots. I should have been put in charge of
the operation, not that dumb German. Only reason he got the job was his fancy sword and
title."
Walsh's eyes narrowed. "I'm talking too much. Way too much. Not that it matters,
'cause you'll never tell anyone."
Behind the vampire, Simon raised a hand, signaling all was ready. Jack muttered a
silent prayer to Bram Stoker. And to modern science.
"Ever go to a tanning salon, Walsh?" he asked casually.
"What?" snarled the vampire. "WHAT!"
"I didn't think so," said Jack, half-rising from the whirlpool. "Maybe since they
use... sun lamps !"
Walsh whirled around, but it was too late. Simon flicked a switch and a half-dozen
bright lights blazed. The vampire shrieked and raised his arms trying futilely to block the
rays. But, there was no escape.
Simon had arranged the sun lamps in a semicircle, with Walsh at the center. The
whirlpool blocked off his only avenue of retreat. With a cry of despair, the vampire sunk
to his knees.
"I'm baking," he screamed, "I'm baking."
Jack gulped and fought to hold down his dinner. Walsh wasn't lying. The vampire's
skin blackened and cracked like paper in a fire. And turned to ash. In seconds, the
monster's face and arms had disappeared into a cloud of soot. As if in slow motion,
Walsh's clothing collapsed in on itself, like a balloon suddenly deflating. All that remained
was a small pile of fine, black powder.
"Think if we mix this stuff with a batch of plasma it would bring him back to life?"
asked Simon, smirking. "Dehydrated vampire."
"I have no desire to find out," said Jack, splashing the dust with water from the
whirlpool. He stepped out of the tub. "I want my clothes. Another minute in that spa and
I'd be a size smaller."
Simon held up the vampire's black cape. "What should we do with this thing? And
the rest of his clothes?"
"Burn them," said Jack, remembering a Robert Bloch story about a vampire's
cloak. "The sooner the better. After which, we put the lights away and straighten up this
place."
Jack yawned. "Then, maybe, we can get some sleep."

11

Jack woke with a splitting headache. It felt as if someone had been using his head as a
kettle drum all night. Groggily, he blinked his eyes several times trying to clear his vision.
Hovering at the fuzzy edges of his mind was the image of a girl. A slender, good-looking
young woman with pixieish features, he vaguely remembered her haunting his dreams. She
had been desperately trying to tell him something, but he couldn't recall a word she said.
"Damn it," he muttered, sitting up in the bed. He hated waking up feeling this