“No, Scott is an unregistered acolyte. As such he has no rights, including the right to appeal.”
“All vampires have rights!” Jeremiah declared. “Are you not familiar with your very own charter? The charter documents state unequivocally that all vampires are considered to have certain basic rights. Among them is the right to appeal a sentence of death.”
“So are we supposed to Mirandize every errant vampire we encounter?” Elizabeth asked. “Are we supposed to provide them with an attorney? This is ridiculous.”
“Please!” Father said. “Please. Jeremiah may have a point. But if Mr. Campbell wishes to appeal, we must forward this case to a higher authority.”
“You mean an Inquisitor?” Elizabeth asked. Scott did not like the sound of that word. That sounded way too serious.
“Precisely,” Father said.
“Whoa, hold on, back the train up, fellas,” Jack interrupted. “You’re saying Scott’s only hope here is to appeal to an Inquisitor? Until then, he’s stuck in a legal holding pattern?”
“It shouldn’t take terribly long for an Inquisitor to take a private flight from Europe,” Elizabeth said.
“Scott cannot face an Inquisitor without proper representation!” Jeremiah said.
Father, Jack, Elizabeth, and Jeremiah took turns debating Scott’s fate, the room descending into a heated argument. Scott couldn’t tell who was saying what in the storm of words thrown about that chamber. His frustration with the squabbling vampires grew unnoticed by everyone else.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Scott cried. “I’m still here, guys! I’m the one on trial here. Don’t I get a say? Don’t I have the opportunity to control my fate? Or does no one here think I’m capable of independent thought?”
The vampires fell silent.
“I don’t know what I have to do to prove that I deserve to live. I don’t know anything about vampire law or prophecies or inquisitors. I deserve the right to at least fight for my life. That’s all I know,” Scott said. “And if that isn’t good enough for this House, well then, it isn’t good enough. But you can’t fault me for trying.”
“You will need legal representation,” Father said.
“I will help him retain a counselor,” Jeremiah offered.
“Good. That leaves us the matter of finding someone who will take responsibility for the acolyte.”
Jack held up his hand.
“Jack, not you,” Father said.
Jeremiah lowered his head, thought about the situation, and then raised it to address Father. “I will. I will take responsibility for Scott Campbell.”
“This is highly irregular. Jeremiah, we have considered you a traitor to your own kind, yet in respect, we have allowed you access to this House. To allow you access to this new convert causes us some trepidation. And yet, we are left with few alternatives. So very well. Take Mr. Campbell. Teach him. Discipline him. Assist him in his path. We are giving you the authority and responsibility his sire ordinarily would have had.”
“And what about me? What about my rights?” Jack asked.
“You have the right to remain silent. Exercise it. As for your responsibility, you have not shown an interest in behaving responsibly yourself when it comes to the creation and nurturing of acolytes. Therefore, we have removed the responsibility from you. Your fitness as a sire will also be determined by the Inquisitor; until then, you are not to have contact with Mr. Campbell. Do I make myself absolutely clear, Jack?”
“Crystal.”
“Very well then. Mr. Campbell, you are hereby released from custody. We shall continue these proceedings at a future date to be determined. You are all dismissed.”
Jack stomped out of the room in a fury. Jeremiah left soon after him. Elizabeth bowed to Father, put the falcata back in its wall mount, and then left the room. Scott rose from his seat and started to leave as well.
“Scott, a word,” Father asked.
“What now?” Oh great. This better be good.
“It has come to our attention that, in the process of your conversion, Jack destroyed your car. Is this correct?”
“Uh, well, yeah…how did you know about that?”
“We have our ways. That leaves the matter of compensation for the loss of your vehicle.”
“Compensation? Seriously?”
“Did you think I was joking, Mr. Campbell?”
“Well, you were going to have me killed just a few seconds ago…”
“There is something you must understand: you are now under the jurisdiction of this House, for as long as you are alive. It is incumbent upon me, as the administrator for this House, to ensure that the welfare of our membership is observed. Please tell me, how did you get here tonight?”
“I drove my mother’s Prius.”
Father held his head erect and frowned. “Vampires do not drive Priuses. Especially not their mother’s Priuses. But back to the matter of compensation. It is part of my duty to ensure that our members are meeting our standards for their daily lives, which includes having access to tasteful and appropriate means of personal transportation. It would be unacceptable for any vampire to be at the mercy of public transportation or operate a vehicle that is beneath our standards. More importantly, it is customary for this House to settle disputes between its members, to include compensation for losses incurred by other House members. As you are a member, even temporarily, it is still our responsibility to make sure you are appropriately compensated.”
“Okay, I see, I think. Are we thinking a dollar amount here?”
“In as much as it would assist you with more suitable transportation, certainly. I have access to a network of automobile dealerships and lines of credit in assumed names at each of them. I will give you the names of the dealerships and a card under the name of Edward Coli to access one of these lines of credit. You can purchase a new car, completely free of charge, if you choose.”
“Wow, now that is good news, for a change. Thanks! But I’m still gonna use my insurance payout for some of the cost.”
“As you wish. You may pick up the card and the list of approved dealerships from the Samoan. But be aware: we may, at our discretion, or upon your demise, revoke our good graces and order our bankers to cease payment. Do not forget that. Now, in the lobby are complimentary bags of human blood. After all, we did say refreshments would be provided. Please take as many as you require. And be aware that should you require any more nourishment in the future, you may contact this House and make the necessary arrangements.”
This night had taken some crazy turns for Scott. The thought of a free car and free food were most welcome, even if this Father guy had almost had him killed a few minutes earlier. It occurred to Scott that vampires were fickle beings and concerned about appearances, both in clothing and in modes of transportation. Even if Scott’s career as a vampire was to be short lived, he apparently was expected to keep up appearances. He thanked Father and then headed out of the room.
As Scott left the House and headed toward the Prius, the rain coming down hard again, Jack ran up to intercept him.
“Hey, hey, whoa there, Scott. We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. Some help you were. There’s nothing you could do? I almost got my head chopped right off by Psycho Warrior Bitch in there. And where the hell were you?”
“I’m sorry, Scott, really I am. But you have to understand, there’s really nothing I could have done.”
“And that’s we’re standing here in the rain? So you can tell me you couldn’t help me, when I thought you had already made that clear? That really helps clarify things. Thanks a lot.”
“Watch out for him—Jeremiah. He can’t be trusted. He’ll betray you.”
“Oh, you think so? Well, right now, I’m looking out for pretty much everyone. I don’t think anyone here can be trusted.”
“You can trust me, Scott.”
“No, I can’t. And I don’t.”
Jeremiah, still inside the House, stood looking out the dou
ble doors as Scott pulled away into the darkness. Elizabeth stood beside him, watching as well.
“You really think this Scott fellow is the one mentioned in the prophecy?” she asked.
“Me? I have no idea. But the fact is, there are many among us who are aware of the prophecy and realize that Mr. Campbell meets the descriptions eerily well. It is uncanny. But many of those who are fully aware of the prophecy would seek to exploit Scott for their own ends, whether or not the prophecy is true. If the similarities are mere coincidence and Scott is not the deliverer, I would seek to protect him from those who would scheme to use him as a political tool.”
“And if Scott is the deliverer?”
“Then I would still seek to protect him even more so. For then he will truly need protection.”
CHAPTER 16
Wednesday morning arrived, a rare sunny day in the cool of late October. Scott was glad that the rains had relented at least for one day. He thought that since it was reasonably dry it might be a good day to find a new car. Scott announced his intentions to Irene, who was secretly relieved that her beloved Prius was once again available to her on a more consistent basis. She didn’t actually say it out loud, only that she was happy that Scott was finally going to find a suitable replacement for his much-lamented Mustang. She told him not to get anything too racy since she didn’t want him getting into any more accidents.
“But, Mom,” Scott said, “it wasn’t my fault. The other guy hit me!”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t your fault, Scotty?”
“I never had an accident before. What are you implying, anyway?”
“I think racy cars attract accidents!”
“What? Mom, seriously? Do you have any statistics to back that up?”
“Oh, I’m sure I could find some!”
The discussion about auto shopping did not prevent her from asking the inevitable questions about his mysteriously late medical appointment from the previous evening.
“My goodness, you were late! What kind of things did they check for? Did they find anything?”
“They found nothing, really,” Scott replied. He was still shaken from his latest brush with death but was hopeful that this Jeremiah guy would help him find decent legal representation. Scott of course didn’t want her to know anything about that and was even tempted to use his vampiric power of suggestion to stop her from pursuing her line of interrogation. But Scott just couldn’t do that to her.
Irene drove Scott to the dealership. The drive wasn’t long, but it felt like it was, with Scott fearing that she would continue with the questions. To his relief, she didn’t. She was distracted when Scott asked her about the latest coupon book that had just showed up in their mail, and if anything got Irene Campbell going, it was coupons. She dropped Scott off at the dealership and offered to stay and help him look for a new car. He replied that he didn’t help her look for purses and ladies’ clothing, so she did not need to do the same. She was insulted, of course, but she got the message. Scott made a mental note that he’d need to make up for that later.
Scott headed toward a line of brand-new Mustangs. With Father’s offer of the use of his line of credit, he was intent on a brand-new GT model. A chubby, jovial salesman in a long-outdated polyester suit bounded out of the main showroom and headed straight for him. Scott couldn’t help compare the salesman to a vampire. He smells blood, so he closes in for the kill.
“Hi there, stranger!” the salesman said. “You looking for a brand-new Ford Mustang, are you?”
“Yes, I am looking at Mustangs.” Scott wondered, Gee, what could have given that away? Was it the fact that I was looking at Mustangs?
“Well! You came to the right place! By the way, my name is Scott. Scott Wainright! And you are?”
“My name is Scott, too,” he replied, hoping the polyester-suited man would not make a big deal out of the coincidence.
“Well! Another Scott! I’m gonna have to work out a real special deal for you today. Tell you what: I’ll knock off five percent right off the MSRP, just for a fellow Scott. I’ll even throw in the factory clear coat for no extra charge!”
“That’s…that’s real kind of you.” Scott was completely unimpressed. He tried to remember some of the advice his father had given him some years ago. These guys will try to woo you into buying something right away, usually with some bullshit about knocking a pittance off the MSRP or some other bullshit like throwing in factory clear coat. Hell, that’s done at the factory! Do these guys think you’re stupid?
“Now,” Wainright said, “if that GT is what you want, you can walk right out today—drive out today—with a small amount down. We offer bulletproof financing.”
“Nothing down.”
“Say what? Must be my trick ear.”
“I’m putting nothing down. I’ve got a check from my insurance agency covering my old car’s replacement cost. The rest will be covered by a line of credit extended to me by a Mr. Edward Coli. He advised me your finance people were fully aware of this and would handle it.” Scott handed Wainright Father’s card.
“Edward…Coli. Okay, I’ll have to check with the finance manager about this. Just hold on a minute.”
Wainright retreated back into the showroom. Scott remained on the lot, perusing the various options. He was leaning toward a GT in black. He thought it might as well be black, even though the color faded pretty quickly when exposed to the elements. After all, all the other vampires seemed to drive black cars. Scott guessed that maybe it was some vampiric status quo. All the cool vampires drive black, so don’t be the odd duck out. Right then he changed his mind, thinking that maybe he didn’t want a black one after all.
It wasn’t too long before the fat salesman returned, his eyes wide. He grabbed Scott’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Scott, I want to congratulate you.”
“Okay. What for?”
Wainright looked around at the row of Mustangs. “Oh hell, you don’t want any of these. Come with me!”
Scott followed him into the dealership’s showroom. There were a few intriguing cars. The salesman pointed to a brand-new silver-and-blue Shelby GT350. “Now that…that is what you want! Isn’t it?”
“That is nice,” Scott admitted. But, like a beacon on a foggy night, or like bacon on a foggy night (this is Scott Campbell, after all), another car on the far side of the showroom caught his eye, speaking to his automotive lusts. He gravitated straight toward it.
“Now, this is a car!” Scott announced, gazing upon the fully restored 1971 Mustang Mach I in white trimmed with black. “Tell me she has a 351 Cleveland. Please tell me she has a 351 Cleveland!”
“Yep, that she does. A four-barrel Cleveland 351. This one has been specially tuned and can put out about three hundred twenty-five horses and three hundred ninety-five foot-pounds of pure torque, a bit better than original factory specs. You see the ram-air intakes? They’re fully functional. It has a C6 automatic transmission, which is pretty good, but you lose some of the torque that you’d have with a manual transmission. And the sound when you crank her up? Pure American muscle, my friend. Pure American muscle!”
Scott smiled. If Father was going to buy it, he was really going to buy it. “I’ll take it. How much?”
“How much? Oh no, I’m sorry, my friend. This one isn’t for sale, just for show.”
“Not for sale? Are you sure?” Scott asked as he turned to gaze onto Wainright’s eyes.
“Uh…yeah. I mean, no…not for sale.”
“Are you absolutely sure about that?”
Within the hour, Scott drove off the lot in that classic white Mustang.
Work came and went uneventfully that evening. Al steered clear of Scott. Scott’s balanced criticism of his management style (at least, Scott thought it was balanced criticism) must have been a little too fresh in Al’s mind. Robin engaged Scott in some idle chatter about a film festival she was attending (which actually sounded kind of boring, but he was as polite as always). Zed was very impress
ed by Scott’s new ride, challenging him to race his American muscle car against Zed’s turbocharged Honda. He politely declined but offered to give Zed a ride sometime (despite the fact that Zed’s unusual wet-dog odor was becoming stronger to Scott. He was Scott’s friend, regardless of stench).
Eleven o’clock came again, as it always did. Except this night, Scott had plans. Plans that involved Dawn Rhinebeck. Scott remembered his promise to Phil Rhinebeck that he would fetch his daughter from the light-rail station when she arrived back from the university at midnight. There was no way he could forget that. Scott’s mood lifted as the promise of the evening ahead came even closer. Excitement and pure lust burned within him. Tonight, I am going to make Dawn Rhinebeck mine. Tonight, I’m gonna get lucky!
Scott couldn’t even think of Laura any more. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since their last interaction at the hospital. Still, Scott was surprised at how quickly the sweet young ginger had replaced his ex-wife’s image in his mind. Laura had been the love of Scott’s life, but now, it seemed, not so much. And soon, other thoughts burst into his mind:
Maybe I’ll have Dawn; then I’ll have Laura. Or both at the same time! Or…no. Knock it off, Scott. This is wrong. That’s not you! You’re not some studly sex-crazed male slut…no, but you are a vampire. You are the ultimate alpha male. You have got it going on! So why not? Why not have some fun now that you can?
Scott couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. That wasn’t the way he was raised. That wasn’t the way he believed. So no.
Okay, how about just deflowering Dawn tonight and skip the wild ménage à trois for now. Deal?
Scott was shocked by the unrestrained, animalistic sexuality that was coursing within him. He had always done the morally correct thing, according to his beliefs. That was easy when he was a loser with the ladies. Now, however, the temptation was made more powerful by the fact that what he wanted was well within his grasp. He knew he could have Dawn. But he also wondered if it was right. Not only for him but for her as well.
Suburban Vampire: A Tale of the Human Condition—With Vampires Page 14
