Wicked Game

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Gideon says softly.

  I shiver, but keep staring at the floor at my feet. “I was just thinking, I didn’t know vampire lives could be so dramatic. It’s terrible what happened to Anthony.”

  “Antoine.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  Gideon’s silence seems to consume all the air in the room. He moves toward me, closer and closer, until his shoes enter my line of sight, less than a foot away.

  When he speaks, his voice is low and soft. “Today you will learn that with a few exceptions, we are not so monstrous. Perhaps you will decide to stay.” When I don’t respond, he turns for the door. “And Ciara. Should you entertain any thoughts of escape, know this: If I don’t find you in your room at sunset, your gentleman friend here will be staked. Slowly. Have a pleasant day.”

  As soon as the door shuts and locks, Jim sits straight up in bed.

  I yelp and nearly choke on my own breath. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was faking it to maintain the element of surprise.”

  “It worked. On me.”

  “Besides, that girl was so coked up, I may never sleep again.” He runs shaky hands through his curls. “We’re in deep shit, aren’t we?”

  “Do you think Gideon knows who killed his son?”

  “No, but the fact that your pulse skyrocketed when he said Antoine’s name probably made him suspicious.”

  “I couldn’t help it. What are we going to do?”

  He looks around. “First we’re going to find my pants.”

  I retrieve them from the corner and turn away to look for his shirt while he puts them on. I find it under the bed—a VMP Lifeblood of Rock ’n’ Roll T-shirt.

  “We’ll have to stop selling these.” I hand it back to Jim as he zips up his jeans. “T-shirts, bumper stickers. It’s all over.”

  “But now that Elizabeth’s dead, at least she can’t sell to Skywave.” Jim pulls the shirt over his head. “Right?”

  My stomach plummets to the vicinity of my knees. “Elizabeth told us she decided not to sell.”

  “Did she tell Skywave?”

  “I doubt she had the chance yet. It sounded like she’d just decided tonight.” I sink onto the bed and put my head in my hands. “If she’s dead, with no next of kin, then the business will be liquidated and its assets auctioned off.”

  Shane’s voice returns to the radio. “It’s five fifty-four on a Tuesday. Thanks to everyone who called in to express support—”

  “Liquidated?” Jim says to me. “You mean it would be—”

  “Turned into cash. Hold on, I want to hear this.” I go to the radio and turn up the volume.

  “—asked about VMP merchandise,” Shane continues. “Sorry, but we won’t be selling any more, so hang on to what you have. You got yourselves some sweet collector’s items.”

  Jim seizes my shoulder. “The station’ll be sold for parts? Like a broken-down car?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He curses and starts to pace. I lean closer to hear Shane over Jim’s muttering.

  “—official press release later today detailing the disturbing incident that made us decide to end the campaign. So look for our pretty faces on the evening news.”

  “All these years I put in,” Jim huffs. “I’m not a fucking asset!”

  I turn to glare at him. “You’re less than an asset, you’re an employee. Now would you shut up for two seconds?”

  Jim’s rant grows louder. I press one ear against the speaker and plug the other with my finger.

  “This last song goes out to those of you who greet this morning wondering if this could be your last sunrise. I’ve been there, many times. Parents, preachers, and politicians think rock music is the source of young people’s despair. They don’t understand it’s just a reflection. They also forget that music can be a source of hope, a reason to live.”

  “I gotta get out of this place.” Jim rattles the knob, then pounds on the solid wood. “Hey! Open the goddamn door!”

  I press my ear against the speaker. What if it’s my last “last song”? I think about falling asleep in Shane’s arms last night, and a ball of anger forms inside me. If I die and miss out on sex with my hottest boyfriend ever, I’m going to be so pissed.

  Jim slams the door again and again with his shoulder. I close my eyes and soak in the voice from afar.

  “—music still has any power left in the world, I hope it can bring you strength. Good morning, and good—”

  Jim picks up the radio, yanking the cord out of the outlet, and hurls it against the door. The radio shatters, but the door stands solid.

  I stare at the silent, splintered pieces of what used to be my lifeline. “You are such an asshole.”

  Jim cracks his knuckles and nods, his breath slowing. “But I’m an asshole who feels better now.”

  “You couldn’t wait ten more seconds?”

  “Sorry.” He sighs and sits heavily on the bed. “It’s not so bad, you know. Being a vampire. It’s actually pretty far out.”

  “Did you do it on purpose?”

  He stares at the ceiling. “Hard to say. It just kind of happened, and I went with the flow, you know?”

  “How much do you remember?”

  “I remember the Doors were playing onstage. It took the whole set for me to die. They took their time with me. They took turns.”

  “The Doors?” I had no idea.

  “No, the vampires.”

  I hold my wrists in my hands, feeling both pulses. “What’s it like to die?”

  “For me it was really psychedelic. But it’s probably like any trip—you get out of it what you put into it. Spiritually, I mean.” Jim regards me with an inscrutable expression. “If it happens, I’ll make sure you don’t get hurt.”

  I give a bitter laugh. “Not hurt. Just killed.” He seems dismayed, so I add, “Thanks for staying with me.”

  He waves off my gratitude. “What you said down there to Gideon, about all of us being people—did you mean that, or was it just a speech?”

  “I meant it, but after what happened to Elizabeth I don’t know what’s true anymore. Maybe I was talking out my ass.”

  The idiom seems to confuse him. “Anyway, thanks for sticking up for us.” He thinks for a moment, then furrows his brow. “So you’re not really a crappy poker player?”

  23

  You Can’t Lose What You Ain’t Never Had

  “Welcome to Gideon’s Lair! You must be Ciara. I’m Ned, Ned Amberson. Welcome to Gideon’s Lair. Did I say that already? That’s because you’re welcome.”

  The bald young man with sapphire eyes is still shaking my hand. His grip is warm, self-assured, and definitely human. Lawrence stands with him outside my room.

  “Tour time!” Ned gestures for me to precede him down the hallway. Lawrence casually shoves Jim back through the door like a bouncer with an insufficiently cool patron, then locks it, muffling the younger vampire’s protests.

  Ned continues chattering as we pass a series of closed doors. “I’ve heard so much about you. I really think you’ll fit in. So what did you do before you came here?”

  He speaks as if my joining the cult is a done deal. Typical sales talk: act like the customer’s already bought the product—and had a choice in the first place. I glance back at Lawrence, who follows several paces behind.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Ned says. “He won’t be able to come all the way up with us. It’s well past sunrise. Here, you probably could use one of these.” He leads me to a door with a familiar sign: LADIES. I rush in, grateful.

  When I come out, Ned begins the tour, walking backward as he speaks. “On this level, as you know, we have our guest rooms. Singles on the west end—” He points behind him. “—couples and families to the east.”

  “Families?”

  “Children are welcome, as are pets, as long as they don’t cause trouble.”

  “The pets or the children?”

  Without a
nswering my question, he opens a door on my left. “By earning points, guests can work their way up to better living quarters.”

  I peer in to see what looks like a tastefully decorated hotel suite, four-star accommodations compared to the rattrap I share with Jim. “What do you mean, earn points?”

  “For the nourishment we provide, as well as other services, such as laundry, groundskeeping, child care.”

  “Sounds like a commune.” Or a prison. I wonder which “guests” get to make license plates.

  Ned nods as if I’ve said something profound. “Very much like a commune. The guests help each other and help the vampires in exchange for a place to stay and a meaningful life.”

  I step back into the hallway. “Can a guest lose points?”

  Ned’s serene composure flickers for a moment. “Of course,” he says. “Some need carrots, others need sticks.”

  I wonder what happens when one’s points dip below zero, but decide not to ask. If I can keep this Ned guy on my side, he’ll reveal more information—maybe something I can use to get us out of this mess.

  We reach the staircase. To my relief, we go up instead of down, but Lawrence still follows us.

  “Where do the vampires sleep during the day?” I ask Ned.

  “On the bottom level. That’s not part of the tour.”

  The wide-open basement appears at the top of the stairs. On the love seat, a man about my age lounges in the arms of an older woman with heavy red lipstick.

  “We’ll move on,” Ned says. “Someone’s having a bedtime snack.”

  The woman dips her head to the man’s neck, and I realize it’s not lipstick darkening her mouth. Rather than cry out, the man just sits there watching Regis and Kelly on the black-and-white TV He might as well be donating blood at the Red Cross.

  As we climb the next staircase, Lawrence stays behind. The last thing I see is him stalking toward the love seat, fangs out.

  Ned hurries me to the top. Just before the door shuts, a pair of screams ring out from the family room below.

  My skin jumps. “What was that?”

  Ned shrugs. “That was rank having its privileges. Want some breakfast? Might as well eat food while you can still enjoy it.”

  My stomach lurches, telling me I’ve already had my last enjoyable meal.

  He leads me into a bright kitchen, where a thirtyish woman and a teenage boy sit at the breakfast bar. They stare at me apprehensively, then grab their plates and head for the back porch.

  “Don’t worry, people will be more polite once you’re here for good. Not that they’ll have much choice.” Ned opens the refrigerator with a flourish. I haven’t seen a fridge so crammed with food since the turn of the century—the last Thanksgiving at my foster parents’. “We grow most of our own food,” Ned says, “to minimize trips to the all-night supermarket down in Frederick. The vampires escort us whenever we go off-site.” He sidles to the counter and whips a cloth napkin off a plate. “We even bake our own bread.”

  On the plate sits a foot-high stack of bagels. Ned grabs one and starts tearing it in half crosswise with his fingers. No knives here, apparently. I wonder if it’s to prevent suicide or homicide or both. Ned’s blue polo shirt covers the waistband of his khakis, so I can’t tell if belts are disallowed.

  He examines me as he rips. “I sense a lack of enthusiasm on your part. Tell me your concerns.”

  “Well... there’s the whole becoming a vampire thing. Not my wish.”

  “Not yet.” He stuffs the bagel halves in the toaster. Their ragged edges prevent them from slipping in, so he crams them down with a wooden spoon. “It’s a privilege to be made by Gideon.”

  “I saw the last vampire he made. Gideon left him to starve, tossed him away like a used tissue.”

  “His three bodyguards,” Ned continues, as if he hasn’t heard me, “Lawrence, Wallace, and Jacob. All his progeny.”

  “So?”

  “You saw what happened downstairs a minute ago. They can take whomever they want, whenever they want, as long as it’s within the rules.”

  “The vampires have rules, too?”

  “If they didn’t, they’d run out of food very quickly.” He counts off on his fingers. “First, to keep us healthy, the same guest can’t be drunk more than once every two weeks. For those two weeks, we wear something to keep them away.” He pulls a gold cross from under his shirt collar. “The Jews wear a Star of David, the Muslims a crescent moon. The Wiccans—we have a lot of those— wear pentagrams.”

  “What about nonreligious people?”

  He laughs. “Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘There are no atheists in foxholes’?” He goes back to counting the rules. “Second, after those two weeks, if a guest still doesn’t feel up to it, they can request an extension, reviewable on a case-by-case basis. One of the vampires used to be a doctor.”

  “But if you don’t let them drink you, you lose points.”

  A buzzing comes from the toaster—the bagel is stuck. Ned leans over and jiggles the handle until the bread pops out, singed around the edges.

  “As I was saying, you’ve been given a real honor. Many of us dream of becoming vampires.” He puts the bagel on a small plate and opens the refrigerator. “Takes a long time to build up that many points. In the five years I’ve lived here, no one’s ever done it.”

  “Can the guests leave whenever they want?”

  “Regular or chive and onion?”

  “Huh?”

  “Cream cheese.” Ned’s head pokes up from behind the fridge door. “For your bagel.”

  “I don’t want a bagel.”

  “But I made it for you. Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want one?”

  “I thought you were making it for yourself.”

  He looks insulted. “That would have been incredibly rude.”

  “Can the guests leave when they want?”

  “Of course.” He closes the refrigerator door. “But no one ever wants to.” He smacks the counter. “I know. How about some coffee? We have a fantastic Nicaraguan blend.”

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “Oh, I get it.” Ned grabs a mug and pours himself a cup. “You think it might be poisoned.” He takes a long sip and smacks his lips. “Mmm. Bottled water makes all the difference. Especially out here in the boonies—you never know what’s in the wells.”

  I peek out the sliding door to the back porch. I can almost taste the sunshine.

  “Let’s go outside.” Ned carries his cup to the door. “Could be your last chance.” He grabs a Chicago White Sox baseball cap from a peg. “The thing I’d like most about being a vampire is not having to worry about skin cancer of the scalp.” He slides the cap over his head and opens the door.

  The morning’s mugginess blankets us as we cross the small wooden porch. The woman and teenager from the kitchen are sitting at a round white wrought-iron table. They avoid my eyes, but I can feel their gazes burn into me as I step off the porch into the large backyard.

  “Ellie’s friendlier.” Ned gestures to the playground, where a young woman is helping a small boy navigate the monkey bars.

  Ellie waves to us, then claps wildly as the child reaches the end of the row of bars. “You did it!” She sweeps him into a hug, then lowers him to the ground. His orange T-shirt hikes up over his waist as he slides against her, and I can’t help but check for bite marks. “Now go play in the sandbox while Mommy talks to Neddy. Try not to get sand down your pants this time.”

  Ned introduces us. Ellie shakes my hand. “New recruit?”

  “Of Gideon’s,” Ned says to Ellie, with emphasis on the vampire’s name. He turns to me. “Ask her anything.”

  I search for a diplomatic yet productive question. “How did you come to be here?”

  “I was on welfare.” She tucks a blonde curl back into her elastic ponytail holder. “Actually, I was about to get kicked off welfare, but I couldn’t find a job. I was selling my blood plasma for grocery money. That’s where Gideon’
s folks found me.” She grins at her surroundings. “Now I get room and board, a safe place to raise my kid, and a purpose in life. Plus free hepatitis shots.”

  “A purpose in life? Feeding vampires?”

  “Being part of a community. Contributing.”

  Ned sips his coffee. “Ellie teaches our homeschool.” My mind spins. “You have a homeschool here?”

  “We can’t let these kids grow up like animals,” Ellie says with a laugh. “Though they’d have more fun that way.” She looks over at her boy. “Trevor’s still too young, but we have six other children, ranging from seven to fourteen.”

  “What happens when they grow up?” I ask her. “Do they become .. . guests?” I look at Ned, suddenly tired of hiding my hostility. “Or does Gideon even wait that long to start drinking them?”

  Ned folds his hands around his coffee mug in a prayer-like posture. “Gideon has great respect for family.” He bows his head slightly. “He said he told you about his son Antoine.”

  I notice he hasn’t answered my question. “What’s that got to do with these kids?”

  “Ciara.” Ellie sticks her thumbs in her belt loops and gives me a benign regard. “It’s in Gideon’s best interest to keep us happy and healthy.”

  “Because you taste better that way. Like organic chicken.”

  They don’t even blink. They just keep smiling, though now their grins are tinged with pity.

  “You’ll come to understand,” Ned says.

  I turn away before another insult can leave my lips.

  The woman and teenager have left the porch, but a tall thin man stands just inside the sliding door. He turns quickly and disappears into the shadows of the house, allowing me to glimpse nothing more than a head of thick white hair.

  I turn back to Ned. “Who was that?”

  He looks past me, then shrugs. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “Me neither,” Ellie adds in a tight voice. “Could be one of the ghosts.” She laughs. “Don’t worry, they don’t bother anyone, especially not the vampires.”

  I stare back at the door. Ghost or not—and my money’s on not—this one bothers me.

  * * *