“Hold him. We’ll figure this nonsense out later,” said the Magister. He turned back to Steve. “As for you, feel the wrath of Lord Abaddon!” he bellowed. The Magister thrust his arms forward and Fluffy growled, glowing with incandescent fury. He began to roll, picking up speed every second, ripping up the marble floor as he headed straight for the Caleximus congregation.

“Fuck you and your guppy!” yelled Steve as he let go of the boar’s chain. It took half a dozen steps forward and stopped. Fluffy glowed a hotter red with each revolution.

Salzman crept up on the spectacle, quietly laughing at the scene.

The black boar skittered on its hooves, turned, and ran in the opposite direction from Fluffy.

“No!” yelled Steve.

“Dad!” yelled Jerry.

“Shit,” said Salzman as the fleeing boar thundered straight at him. He turned and ran back to the Russians. “Shoot it,” he yelled. “Shoot it!”

As Fluffy bore down on the congregation, Jerry became aware that all of a sudden no one was pulling his arm. He turned back to the demon fish bearing down on him, knowing that the invisible women were gone and that all of his father’s shouts and prayers weren’t going to save him.

Mr. Lemmy and his men splashed around the black fountain, making a formidable amount of noise, enough that they didn’t hear any of the fight going on at the other end of the floor.

“Boss, I don’t think this is red water we’re in,” said Baker. “I think it’s—”

“Shut up and keep looking,” screamed Mr. Lemmy.

A crowd stood around them, laughing as they crawled around in the liquid, feeling the bottom and sides of the fountain. In fact, Mr. Lemmy and his men were concentrating so hard, they didn’t notice when invisible hands cut the garlic garlands off their necks and tossed them into the dark.

When all the garlic was gone, the crowd’s laughter went with it. They moved in closer, forming a tight circle around the fountain. Mr. Lemmy looked up and slipped onto his ass. He’d never seen that many fangs outside of a Gothic whorehouse he’d once visited in New Orleans. It wasn’t a very convincing Dracula scenario—none of the girls could get the accent right—but it had been a fine way to spend an evening. This crowd, though . . . well, this crowd was different.

“Boss,” said Baker.

“What?” yelled Mr. Lemmy, keeping an eye on the fanged weirdos.

“I lost my garlic.”

Mr. Lemmy felt around his neck. The rest of his men did the same.

“Hey. I think I found the box,” said one of his men. “Oh, nope. It’s one of those little treasure chests from an aquarium.”