Vintage Soul by David Niall Wilson

life, but that he died trying to acquire all the proper ingredients.   Among the things he gathered were certain crystal formations, ashes from the grave of a particular type of priest, and several more standard items.   The final ingredient proved his undoing, as it apparently involves draining the blood of a vampire of a certain age.   Le Duc was killed by vampires in 1832, and was not brought back as one of the undead, as far as any record can be found.   His journal contains his studies, but to date no one has attempted this particular magic to our knowledge.”
    There was more, but Donovan had read enough.    Cleo leaped up to the desk again, more delicately this time, and sat, regarding him.
    â€œThis is a bad one, girl,” he said.   “It may be the worst yet.   I’d better get started, eh?”
    As Cleo batted at the cord, Donovan took up the phone and dialed Johndrow’s number.   It was shaping up to be a very long night.

FIVE
    Â 
    Donovan reached Johndrow’s assistant on the third ring, and was patched straight through.   His call was obviously expected, and though Johndrow kept his voice calm, tension crackled at the edges of his words.   It was the first such breach in the other’s icy persona that Donovan had ever detected, and he knew from this that things had not improved since the note had been penned.   He almost wished he didn’t have to deliver worse news of his own.
    â€œYou’ll look into it then?” Johndrow said immediately.   “I knew you would, but I was worried you’d be tied up with something else, or …”
    â€œI would look into it even if you hadn’t asked me,” Donovan replied, measuring his words carefully.   “I’ve had a visitor of my own.   I think there’s more to this than a simple kidnapping.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Johndrow asked.   “I had a hard enough time convincing certain of the elders that Vanessa didn’t take off on her own.   How could you already know something?”
    â€œBecause,” Donovan said, “whoever took her was here, as well.”
    There was a momentary silence, and then Johndrow asked. “You were robbed while you were away?”
    â€œNo,” Donovan replied.   “I was here, right in the room, when it happened.   All that was taken was a single book.   I didn’t get a good shot at the intruder, though Cleo tore a few tail feathers out of his familiar.   It was a crow, a very large one, maybe a raven.   I’ve never seen it before.”
    There was silence on the line again, and Donovan knew that Johndrow was considering the wisdom of putting his faith into someone who’d already come face to face with the one he sought – and had not come out on top.   It was a natural reaction, but still irritating.
    â€œIt took all he had to get a breach large enough for his bird to enter,” Donovan said.   “If I’d been ready for him, we’d have caught the thing and put an end to it.   As it is, he made it in through the fireplace, and he escaped with an old journal.”
    â€œA journal?” Johndrow said.   “What does a journal have to do with Vanessa?   How do you know it’s the same person at all?”
    â€œIt wasn’t just any journal,” Donovan answered.   “It belonged to a French alchemist named Jean Claude Le Duc.   He was a very single minded man – the volume is not a thick one.   It is concentrated on the formula for a single spell, and Le Duc never lived to see that spell put into use.”
    â€œWhat spell?” Johndrow asked.   “That name is familiar, but I can’t quite place it.”
    â€œIt should be familiar,” Donovan said.   “The formula is for the Perpetuum Vitae potion, and the ingredient that caused Le Duc’s death?”
    There was a hiss on