Read The Martian Falcon (Lovecraft & Fort) for Free Online Page B

fascination to the dispatches from Mars during the expedition.’
    ‘Of course I did, along with half the world.’
    ‘Do you recall Captain Smith’s statement that they had retrieved nine samples of hieroglyphs from the city – the so-called rock books – and that they would be bringing them back to Earth?’
    Fort nodded, his fingers tapping impatiently on the desk blotter.
    Lovecraft leaned forward a little further on his chair. ‘And do you also recall how many rock books were transferred to the Metropolitan Museum for display to the public?’
    Fort’s fingers stopped tapping. ‘Eight.’
    ‘The question is, Mr Fort: what happened to the ninth book?’
    ‘The NCPE must still have it.’
    ‘Indeed. And why did they see fit to keep it?’
    ‘That’s another question.’
    ‘A question to which it may be worth seeking an answer, don’t you think?’
    ‘Mr Lovecraft…’
    ‘Yes, Mr Fort?’
    ‘Call me Charles. You’ve got yourself a job.’

CHAPTER 5
The Big Toothpick
    Johnny Sanguine adjusted his black silk necktie in the mirror and smoothed his eyebrows with his tongue. He regarded the pale, lean, handsome face, the broad forehead, the finely-chiselled alabaster cheekbones, the deep brown-blackness of the almond-shaped eyes above the perfectly-proportioned nose, and smiled. His crimson lips parted to reveal glistening, pearl-white fangs.
    While it was true that to human eyes, vampires cast no reflection in mirrors, vampires could see themselves perfectly clearly.
    And Johnny Sanguine liked what he saw.
    His tongue, long, thin and ten times more prehensile than a human tongue, inched outward again and curved back to caress his fangs; slowly running down the length of them, taking in the smooth, graceful curves and pausing at the needle-sharp points.
    ‘Admiring yourself again, Johnny?’ said a female voice behind him, low and sensual, like ambergris-scented smoke.
    Sanguine’s smile faded slowly, tongue withdrawing, red lips closing over fangs, sheathing them once more. ‘What’s not to admire?’ he asked quietly, his eyes finding hers in the mirror.
    While Sanguine’s eyes were nearly black, those of Rusty Links were almost luminous in their tawny magnificence, and the deep red of her long hair complemented them the way a sunset complements late-autumn leaves.
    She joined him at the mirror, looked squarely at his reflection, and reached with her left hand to stroke the back of his head. ‘Not much.’
    He gazed at her reflection for a long moment. She wore a white blouse beneath a charcoal-grey jacket and skirt and high heels. Her black silk stockings made her long legs shimmer like quicksilver.
    ‘What do you want, Rusty?’ said Johnny Sanguine.
    ‘It’s here,’ she replied.
    ‘The Falcon?’
    ‘The Falcon.’
    Johnny Sanguine turned suddenly from the mirror and glided to the centre of the drawing room. When he turned to regard Rusty Links once more, the feral smile had returned to his lips. ‘Finally!’ he said.
    Rusty looked around the room at the fine antique furnishings, the heavy velvet drapes flanking the windows, the crystal chandelier that hung like a thousand frozen dewdrops from the gilded ceiling rose, and said: ‘It’s going to look great in here, Johnny.’
    ‘More than that, sister,’ Sanguine replied, his grin growing yet wilder. ‘It’s going to get that diesel-powered bastard thrown in jail. With him out of the picture, I can expand into Chicago. Nothing can stop me. You wanna come along for the ride?’
    Rusty returned his grin. ‘You know I do, Johnny.’
    There was a knock at the door.
    ‘Bring it in!’ Sanguine shouted.
    The door opened, and a male vampire entered, carrying an object which had been carefully wrapped in pale chamois leather. Sanguine indicated a Regency writing table between the two tall sash windows. ‘Thanks, Carmine,’ he said. ‘Put it there.’
    ‘You got it, boss,’ Carmine said, and placed the object on the table. ‘You need