The trip to the former cannery took exactly thirty-one point four miles, due to several twists in the road, and took forty two minutes. The Count could hear a multipart song from the other van, with parts in English, parts in Spanish, and parts in a language he didn’t recognize. He could also hear one of the vampire minions muttering soft words, a prayer to ‘whatever watched over little vampires’.

A chain link fence surrounded the building, with a tangle of barbed wire running along the top. The driveway passed beside a small gatehouse with a pair of Maerrocholiths and a Fyarl standing guard. There didn’t appear to be any signs of surveillance cameras, and continual scrying would be rather draining for the sorcerer to maintain. The Count doubted that the guards would be much trouble or very bright… but there were other ways.

As the shaggy little monsters swarmed towards the guards at the gate, the Count called, “I vant vun of them alive!”

“They aren’t that bright. Not the Fyarl’s either,” Danny mumbled.

“They do not need to know the answers themselwes. Now that ve are here, I can use vun of them to learn vhat I need to know,” he began rolling up his sleeves, not wanting them to be completely ruined. Of course, if it was the Fyarl they took alive, then that wouldn’t help. Considering the divinatory arts that he had learned, the Count looked back at the guardhouse. “On second thought, I just need vun of them relatively intact. They can be dead. It might simplify things.”

“Umm… why? Once they’re dead, that can’t talk, even if they did know something useful.” Alex glanced at the Count and then immediately opened the door of the van, jumping out of the rusted vehicle. “Dead’s the end.”

The Count moved towards the gate and the little guard station, smiling as the shaggy minions scuttled away from one of the Maerrocholiths. For the moment, it was still breathing, though the blood that was flowing from dozens of wounds and the absence of the back of its skull suggested that the condition would soon change, even if nobody did anything. “Runic diwination is useful in some circumstances. Others require a more hands on methodology. Vhat do you know about extispicy?”

“Does it have to do with hot wings?” Alex trailed behind the Count, watching as the vans rolled towards the now raised gate.

“No.”

“How do spices tie into divination?” Danny asked, the words slipping out of his mouth.

“There are seweral traditions of diwination that read the entrails. Vun tradition did so at the coronation of a king or the ascension of a priest. A second vas to read the futures for children of influential families. A third tradition, close to vhat I shall do, looked for useful information for war leaders. This vill tell me if there are any particular protections on the premises beyond those that block scrying spells.”

After a moment’s consideration of the stars, the direction of the ocean, and the current phase of the moon, the Count knelt to the left side of the Maerrocholith. “This vill hurt for a short vhile…”

The blade of the scalpel opened the demon up from sternum to sacrum, the dark red blood welling up from the incision. His second slice went across the first, half way between the bottom of the ribcage and the highest point of the hips. The Maerrocholith arced, teeth clicking as it tried to scrabble away from the Count. “Danny, Alex, I vant each of you to hold down an arm.”

Ignoring the clicking teeth, the Count pulled at the skin, pulling it back to reveal the pulsing internal organs, the blood welling up and flowing onto his hands. He rubbed his fingers over the liver, noting the slick red black surface, broken only by the purple blood vessels and the lavender grey coils of intestines. There were several protuberances from the smaller intestine, similar to the appendix of a human, and he pinched the closest between his finger and thumb. There was no gall bladder within this quadrant of the abdomen. He opened the other side, noting that the spleen was swollen and warmer than the other organs. With a shudder, the Maerrocholith went limp, no longer struggling or clicking.

Finishing his inspection, the Count rose to his feet. “The sorcerer has cast seweral spells to protect himself from diseases and from direct spells against him. However, this vill not protect him from more traditional methods. There are more Maerrocholiths, two more Fyarls, and five of the lamprey mouthed demons. Come, let the slaughter begin.”

“Uhmmm… what about Kermit?” Dwight’s rumbled as he moved towards the front door. “Are we trying to be quiet about this?”

“Kermit has escaped the cell vhere they vere holding him, though he remains in the building. All others inside the building shall perish… feel free to take your time about it,” the Count looked at Dwight and then gestured towards the door, his hands sticky with the Maerrocholith’s blood. “If you vould get the door for us?”

With a big grin, Dwight slapped his hand against the door. There were several metallic pings, and the hinges groaned before permitting the door to collapse inwards, landing on the concrete with a loud clang. Ducking through the frame, Dwight chuckled, “Door’s open.”

They had only gone a short ways down the hallway when a pair of Marrocholiths charged at them. The high ceilings of the factory permitted them to stand upright, and their gaunt frames were even taller than the pair of ogres who were determined to rescue their liege-frog. As the first ran past Dwight, the Count spun, his own claws gouging behind the knee to sever the tendon, and raking down the calf in an effort to capture the leg and throw the demon to the floor.

The chittering tone changed from threats to a keen of pain, and the long arms flailed as the demon struggled to retain balance. However, the Count had damaged the leg too severely, and the Maerrocholith fell to the tiled floor, dark blood spraying across the Count, the walls, and over the floor. The swarm of the smaller minions fell over the Maerrocholith, ripping into it with teeth and claws. Dwight and Thudge caught the second, each taking one arm and pulling in opposite direction. With several popping squelches, the cartilage gave way, leaving Thudge with an arm and Dwight with the rest of the demon, though the arm that was still attached by a few determined tendons had been wrenched out of the socket.

Dwight shoved it against the wall, growling “Where’s the frog?”

Thudge snapped at the flailing hand, and swung the disconnected arm, effectively slapping the Maerrocholith with its own hand, the talons leaving thin trails of blood across its face.

“They are ignorant cannon-fodder. They do not know vhere Kermit has gone, kill them and be done vith it,” the Count snarled. “The vun who gives them orders vill be vaiting.”

With growled complaint about never wanting to let him have to have any fun, Dwight snapped the Maerrocholith’s neck and followed the Count.

“Vhen ve find the sorcerer, he vill have more minions protecting him. You can have all the fun you vant vith them.”

End part 17.