In Burns and Stoke’s department of Magical Affairs, something architecturally unsound is about to happen.
Wait for it…
Wait for it…
KABOOM!
The ceiling thunders, then shakes; dirt drifts down and ceiling panels collapse.
Silence.
KABOOM!
Silence again.
KABOOM!
If a sound engineer had been asked for a precise description of this noise, he might well have described it as that of a large, unathletic troll jumping from the top of a broken, sagging desk onto the floor as hard as she could.
KABOOM!!
On this last great roar of noise, the sound engineer might have been pleased to find his hypothesis, if not confirmed, then heading in the right direction by said troll crashing bum first through the ceiling of the office below in a shower of torn cables, twisted pipes and billowing white dust. Sitting on a debris-strewn floor, she batted ineffectually at the pulverised architecture drifting in the air around her.
Peering down through the troll-sized hole Gretel had made, there appeared the faces of Kevin and Edna.
“Well,” said Edna. “That’s certainly one way to get past the wards.”
“I don’t feel well,” moaned Kevin. “I think I swallowed the wrong kind of blood.”
“How can you swallow the wrong kind of blood? You’re a vampire!”
“Antigens!” he wailed. “When you have Seah’s syndrome, it’s very important to get the right antigens!”
“Are you going to jump?” asked Gretel from the floor below.
By now Kevin was swaying, eyes out of focus. He smiled absently, muttered, “Some damn drinking spree,” and stepped forward blindly into the hole.
Gretel scrambled out of the way as the vampire crashed to the floor beside her. Kevin picked himself up slowly, one limb at a time.
“Aren’t vampires supposed to be graceful and agile?” enquired Edna.
Kevin’s grin was still locked in place. Gretel carefully poked him in the shoulder, and he rocked one way, then the other, like a punchbag.
“I don’t think Kevin is quite himself,” admitted the troll. Then, “If you jump, ma’am, I’ll try to catch you.”
“I’m far too old for this, you know,” muttered Edna, easing herself feet first to the edge of the sagging hole. “You promise not to peek?” she added with sudden alarm as her skirt began to hang over the edge.
“I promise,” said the troll.
With a sigh and a little “Whoops!” Edna pushed herself off. Gretel caught her, carefully cradling the old woman as she set her down.
“Well, yes,” the high priestess proclaimed, brushing herself down. “In an odd way, this experience is really rather marvellous, isn’t it?” Her gaze settled on Kevin, framed against the sparkling lights of the city through the long windows behind. “My, but he really doesn’t look well. Should we do something for him?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about vampires,” admitted Gretel, “other than their powdered fangs make for interesting seasoning in casseroles.”
There was an unexpected thump.
It was the sound of Kevin going from vertical to horizontal in a single falling-tree movement. He hiccuped. Blood ran from his nose.
“Oh hell,” he whispered. “Why do I never get any of the good stuff?”
Something moved behind them. It rustled along the floor, a thin, crinkling sound. Neither Edna nor Gretel paid it much attention, but Kevin, grinning up at the ceiling, raised a trembling finger.
“Oh look,” he said. “Bag.”
A plastic bag was billowing in the air behind them, as if caught in an upward draught of heat. As Edna watched, it seemed to expand and contract like a jellyfish, before sinking to the floor, to rustle and roll away.
“Would troll blood be of any assistance?” asked Gretel, still mindful of Kevin’s condition.
“Wow, babes, that is like the sweetest offer…” groaned Kevin, “but, uch.”
“I had jaundice as a baby,” stammered Edna. She was half-turned towards the desk behind which the plastic bag had billowed. “So I’m not sure if I’m allowed to donate—”
“Bag,” repeated Kevin, pointing again.
The plastic bag was back, drifting up like a balloon on a breeze. This time, however, it had a companion, a crumpled blue bag whose logo said it had at some point contained shoes and which floated up from a waste-paper basket, buoyant as a Chinese lantern. Another joined it, then another, drifting upwards with the delicacy of oceanic squid, from bins and desks around the office, until the air was full of plastic bags, gently billowing.
“Um…” began Edna.
As if this were a signal, all the rustling bags snapped to attention. With unerring aim and gathering speed, they spun in the air and accelerated towards the three invaders.