Fashionably Dead

by Robyn Peterman

  I sat down and bit the inside of my cheek really hard, trying not to dissolve into hysterics. Pam, that traitor, was still rolling all over the floor, barely able to breathe after Paris’ last outburst.

  Not to be outdone Muffy shrieked, “Join the Aurora House and have a bloody good time!” She rolled her hands like a cheerleader, threw them up in the air and screamed in decibels not meant for the human ear, “Pun intended!”

  Muffy was jumping up and down like a Mexican jumping bean. Paris was pumping her skinny arms and shaking her head like she was having an epileptic fit. And Pam . . . well, Pam was useless.

  Did I have to join a House? Why couldn’t I just be an independent? There was no way in hell I belonged with either of these people. Were these my only two choices? Shit, shit, shit.

  Just as I was about to ask everyone to leave so I could “think about it”, hoping they’d leave those big juicy gift baskets, Paris accidentally punched Muffy in the head and all hell broke loose. Fangs descended and furniture got kicked out of the way. Muffy hissed like a wild animal in heat, picked up Paris Hilton and threw her out of my window. What the fu . . . ? Glass flew everywhere. I screamed and hid under the couch that had gotten shoved up against my TV.

  I heard a grotesque grunt, and a very bloody, teeny tiny Gothy Paris Hilton came flying back through my shredded window . . . the same window from which she had just been ejected. How in the hell did she do that? Paris expertly took Muffy down in a chokehold. She slammed Muffy’s head into the floor so hard so many times that I knew for sure Muffy was for real dead. The sound of skull making contact with hard wood was just wrong on every level. Muffy was a goner.

  But no, how wrong I was . . .

  Bloody Muffy let loose a scream so high pitched that the glass on my TV shattered. She grabbed Paris Hilton’s teeny tiny titties and twisted for all she was worth. Paris Hilton screamed and head-butted Muffy.

  These Vampyres were crazy and they were destroying my house. My house. My cute little postage stamp house that was almost paid off. It wasn’t much, but it was mine and this was not working for me. That preppy-assed screaming Muffy busted my window and my TV, and Paris Hilton had just dismantled my coffee table with a karate chop and was beating Muffy over the head with it. I wasn’t sure how much more Muffy’s head could take. This shit had to stop.

  “Enough!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as my fangs descended.

  “Get up,” I said through clenched teeth, “and get the hell out of my house.”

  Both Paris Hilton and Muffy got to their feet slowly, looking around at my destroyed living room with shame.

  “I am so sorry . . . ” Muffy squeaked.

  “Shut up,” I growled, my eyes flashing. She did.

  “Our Houses will pay for the damage,” Paris Hilton informed me as if this were a regular occurrence.

  “Damn right they will,” I said. “Both of you need to leave and never ever come back.”

  They went to retrieve their gift baskets.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” I snapped. “After that little display, those baskets are mine.”

  “Of course,” Paris Hilton said in her baby voice. “Well, if you change your mind, here’s my card.”

  Muffy quickly pulled out her own card and tried to hand it to me. My glare stopped both of them in their tracks. If I’d learned anything from my mother, it was how to scare the hell out of someone with a glance. It worked.

  “If you don’t put those cards back in your pockets,” I calmly informed them, “I will shove them so far up your asses you will have to pull them out of your mouth. Do you understand me?”

  They put their cards back and exited quickly. Where in the hell had Pam gone? Why couldn’t they see her? This Vampyre thing was appealing less and less to me and I was fairly sure there was no way out. Furthermore, their gift baskets sucked. Muffy’s was loaded with day-glow colored madras clothing, Topsiders, Lacoste and a Minnie Ripperton CD.

  Paris Hilton’s was loaded with black crap that was barely in style during the 1980s, although there was a pair of Converse black high tops. Paris Hilton - 1, Muffy - 0.

  I walked out to make sure that Muffy and Paris were gone, and there on my porch swing sat one of the prettiest Vampyres I’d seen yet. Her skin was as black as night. She had high cheek bones, full lips and sparkling black eyes. Her hair was wild and curly. Her body was long and lean. She was stunning.

  “Who are you?” I asked suspiciously. I didn’t have time for anymore crazy.

  “Your new best friend,” she laughed. Her laugh sounded like bells. She stood up with the predatory grace of a panther, and walked over to me. Now that was what I was talking about. This girl was what I expected a Vampyre to look like.

  “I’m Venus . . . I’m from the Cressida House. We are Vampyre defense specialists. We’re also Prada whores,” she smiled and winked. “We would love for you to join us, Astrid.”

  Venus handed me the new Prada hobo bag filled with really good sunscreen, a totally rockin’ pair of Prada platforms in my size, Chanel sunglasses, a couple of bags of O negative for emergencies and a brand new iPhone. If I could still breathe I would have been hyperventilating. I hesitated for a moment, realizing how materialistic I must seem, but quickly dismissed it. I mean, Oh. My. God. The new hobo! It wasn’t even on sale to the general public yet.

  “Hell yes,” I said, grabbing my new Vampyre buddy and planting a big wet one on her cheek. Things were looking up. Gemma would freak when she saw the bag.

  “Why don’t you come back to the Cressida House with me for the rest of the night and tomorrow? We’ve got a lot to cover. Don’t worry about your living room. The Lucern and Aurora Houses will repair the damage Muffy and Paris caused.” She chuckled and held out her hand. I grabbed it and looked around for Pam. She stood in the doorway watching me.

  I turned to Venus. “I just need to tell my . . . um . . . roommate where I’m going.”

  “Do you need to go in and find her?” she asked.

  “No, I . . . ” I whipped back around. Had Pam left? No, she was still there.

  My Guardian Angel smiled her approval and nodded her head. None of them could see her. Why couldn’t other Vampyres see her? I turned back to Venus who was waiting for my answer.

  “No, she’ll be cool,” I said, following Venus down my driveway to her car.

  I glanced back one last time at Pam, who had turned around, bent over, whipped her pants down and mooned me. I laughed and shook my head in wonder and disgust.

  “What?” Venus asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” I said, “life’s just changing really fast.”

  My new pretty Vampyre buddy considered me for a moment, smiled, and squeezed my hand. “It’s all good my friend. It’s all good.”

  Chapter 6

  Holy hell, this was not what I expected. The Cressida House, which happened to be the most beautiful mansion I’d ever seen, was huge and overwhelming. I pressed my arms to my sides, afraid to touch anything. Everything in the place looked priceless.

  “So this is it,” Venus grinned. “What do you think?”

  “Um . . . wow,” I mumbled.

  Venus laughed and led me through the foyer that was at least ten times the size of my house.

  The home was grand yet tasteful. Dark, heavy woods gave it a masculine feel, but the huge crystal chandeliers and exquisite floral arrangements in stunning etched glass bowls kept it from being too manly. The grand staircase in the foyer would have been breathtaking, if I’d had any breath to take. All the rugs were Persian and I’m sure cost more than my college education. The curtains were thick and brocade and fell like water from windows that had to be at least fifteen feet high.

  Of course, this was nothing compared to all the real Picassos, Rembrandts, Degas, Monets and all the other original paintings that covered the walls. I felt like someone had made a mistake inviting me to belong to such a beautiful place. I stayed close to Venus. My new Vampyre senses made me very aware we were not alone. />
  “The estate also houses a gym, a fight training center, movie theaters, a bowling alley and all sorts of other cool things,” Venus explained as we made our way toward some very large and intricately carved doors. I considered turning around and making a run for it, but Venus took my arm and guided me on. “The property is approximately one hundred acres and we have stables where some very famous race horses are maintained.”

  These Vamps were loaded. Apparently, living for centuries paid off.

  “The third and fourth floors of the main house have bedroom suites for those of us who live on the compound like me,” she continued. “The entire fifth floor is exclusively for the use of our Warrior Prince of the North American Dominion. He loves Kentucky and spends a good deal of time here,” Venus said proudly. “Come on, you ready to meet everyone?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said as she opened the huge doors. “They’ll love you.”

  I gasped as she revealed a massive ballroom filled with the most gorgeous dead people I’d ever seen in my life.

  “Hello, my brothers and sisters,” Venus announced grandly. “This is Astrid. She will be joining our House.

  All conversation stopped and every eye in the ballroom turned to me expectantly. I wanted to die. Whoops, already dead. “Um . . . hi. Nice to meet everyone. I . . . you know . . . died a couple of days ago and I . . . um, think you have a really nice house and . . . ”

  “Why don’t I introduce you around?” Venus thankfully cut off my mortifying intro and proceeded to walk me around the room.

  I spent the entire evening in the grand ballroom meeting more Vampyres than I ever knew existed. Both male and female Vampyres belonged to the House. Some of them lived there, some of them didn’t. They were all very attractive and very nice in an uncomfortably dangerous sort of way. I was an immediate hit, due to Venus sharing the “shove it up your ass and pull it out of your mouth” story. Vamps seemed to enjoy things with a hint of violence attached. My horrifying opening speech seemed to be forgotten. Thank God.

  “Venus,” I whispered, “everyone is so beautiful. What happened with Muffy and Paris Hilton?”

  “Oh,” Venus shook her head, “that’s a bad story.”

  “How bad?”

  “Quite bad,” a stunning Asian female Vampyre informed me. “Back in the 1920s a band of Vampyres thought it would be amusing to change a circus freak show.”

  “Suffice it to say it wasn’t funny at all. It was horrific and cruel. Most of them didn’t make it,” Venus explained. “They were given no choice and were treated brutally.”

  “Oh my God, did they catch the Vampyres who did it?”

  “Oh yes,” the stunning and increasingly scary Asian Vamp said. “They were tried and eventually put to a death as brutal as the ones they caused.”

  Her excited smile creeped me out. I moved closer to Venus.

  “Our Warrior Prince will not tolerate atrocities,” a pale, but beautiful male Vampyre said.

  I noticed many bowed heads. It was like the Warrior Prince was some kind of god-King. Weird. This whole monarchy thing seemed a little outdated to me, but I stayed quiet. He was due to visit the Cressida House soon, and as a new Vampyre, I would be granted an audience with him. Whatever.

  Some of the freak-Vamps, which was their term, not mine, still worked in fringe carnivals, but most like Muffy and Paris Hilton had tried to blend in with society . . . some with more success than others. They had their own Houses—Lucern and Aurora. They had been invited to join the Cressida House, but decided to form their own instead. Neither Lucern nor Aurora had recruited a new member in over fifty years. No surprise there.

  “Really they’re harmless, except for the massive property damage they cause everywhere they go,” a lovely dark-haired Vamp explained.

  “How many are there?” I asked. Why did I find this so morbidly fascinating?

  “At last count there were thirty-eight or forty freak-Vamps, depending with whom you are speaking,” a sexy Vamp with a Spanish accent informed me.

  “Oookay,” I laughed, “Can’t Vampyres count?”

  “No, no, dear child,” a blonde Vampyre named Crispin that looked half my age chimed in, “it’s rumored that the Siamese twins separated themselves, and being immortal, they each just grew back another twin.”

  What the fu . . . ? I tried not to let my jaw drop on that one, but trust me, it was difficult. Even a couple of the seasoned Vamps looked like they had a tough time with it.

  “I do find it interesting that you were changed without consent,” Crispin added, sipping on his blood-laced cocktail and making me uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

  “Give her time,” Venus cut in quickly, moving me away from Crispin.

  “We’re a secret. You can only share this with people you would trust your life with,” Venus said, leading me out of the ballroom.

  “What happens if I slip up?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Revealing the existence of Vampyres is punishable by permanent death.”

  Alrighty then.

  “There is one other thing you need to know,” Venus said. “There are Rogue Vampyres in the area draining and killing mortals. We do not tolerate this kind of behavior.”

  Well, that was certainly good to know. Apparently there was no reason to kill a mortal to eat. Ever. This Rogue issue seemed to happen every fifty years or so and was of course punishable by death. Not my idea of wholesome Vampyre fun. I was to report anything unusual.

  What in the hell did that even mean? Everything in my life was beyond unusual now. I realized when I’d left I hadn’t told them about Pam. Something had held me back from sharing every corner of my life with them. Maybe next time.

  ***

  My house was too clean. Something was wrong. What in the hell was that smell? Pine Sol, bleach, and stanky vanilla room deodorizer? Good God, what did she do? I was only gone one night.

  “Pam, where are you?” I called.

  “In here, sweetness,” she called back. Sweetness? I am so screwed . . . she either killed someone and buried them in the backyard, or she blew my entire savings online betting.

  “Pam, I’m getting a little queasy here,” I said, rounding the corner to my destroyed den. “You usually swear at me within twelve seconds of my arrival.”

  “Fine, Assbag, get in here. We’ve got company.”

  Please help me God, could it get any worse? Yes . . . yes it could. Was Paris Hilton back?

  Pam was alone. Thank you, Jesus. She was sprawled out on my semi-broken couch. Clearly the Vampyre fix-it crew hadn’t shown up yet. She was reading my email. I supposed she’d finished my diary.

  “Did you have a lovely field trip, jackass?” she asked, closing my laptop and patting the couch beside her. I plopped down and curled up next to her.

  “Yeah, nice butt by the way,” I said, referring to her moon and Pam cackled. “I joined the Cressida House. They seemed fairly normal for Vampyres, and I made a new friend named Venus. Where did you go last night?” I asked her accusingly, “I thought you were my Guardian Angel.”

  “I am and I was here,” she replied in a serious tone that I had never heard. I looked at her for a moment and decided to let it drop. I also decided that this was not the time to explore why none of the Vamps could see her.

  “Where’s the company?” I asked.

  “It’s in your bedroom,” Pam smirked.

  “What do you mean by it and why in God’s name is it in my bedroom?” I shouted. Shit, Pam’s love of volume seemed to be rubbing off on me.

  “It has been sent here to teach you how to fight. Apparently the higher ups,” she gestured to the heavens, “saw you hiding behind the couch last night. We have come to the conclusion that you are a wimpy, pansy-ass Vampyre and you need to learn how to defend yourself. Not run behind furniture like a damn coward.”

  “Are you sure you’re an Angel?” I asked, still totally amazed that this disgusting, profan
e, Oprah look-alike named Pam was even remotely celestial.

  “Damn straight, Assbuckle.”

  “That’s lovely,” I continued, “so my fighting coach is in my bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it a male Angel or a female Angel?” I asked.

  “It ain’t no Angel, baby. It’s a male Fairy!” Pam announced.

  “He’s gay?”

  “No! He’s not gay,” Pam yelled. “He’s a Fairy . . . you know, as in ‘I’ve got wings, and I’m really sexy, and I’m magic, and I’m hung like a horse’ . . . you know.” She looked at me expectantly.

  “No, no, actually I don’t know.” I was getting seriously confused and quite honestly a little alarmed by the ‘hung like a horse’ part.

  Pam continued again as if English was my second language. “Well anyway, I don’t think he’s gay. I suppose he could be. He doesn’t seem gay. I’m sure he was scoping my boobs and I’m pretty sure he would love to get down on my . . . ”

  “Nooo. No, no, no, no!” I screamed. “Stop! Don’t want to hear it.” I flapped my hands against my ears to block her out just in case she was still talking. Her mouth wasn’t moving. I slowly took my hands away, ready to start beating my head again if necessary. “Is he sleeping?” I asked, my hands still poised mid-air.

  “For shit’s sake, I don’t know. Go look and see.” She picked up my cell phone, began scrolling through my texts and dismissed me with her middle finger.

  I marched down the hall ready to face whatever was in there, threw open my bedroom door and gasped. Not quite as ready as I thought . . . There on my celery green down comforter surrounded by my hunter green and cream pillows lay a one hundred percent buck ass naked Arnold Schwarzenegger.

  “Hello, my liebchen,” he joyfully bellowed with the full on Austrian-German accent.

  “Hi,” I said and tried to avert my gaze from Arnold’s abundant privates. “I’m Astrid, and you are . . . ?”