We pack up some stuff quick (easy for both of us since Serena’s stuff is already bagged in her car and everything I own right now would just about fit into one bag) and hit the road, stopping to pick up Dad from Dr. Musty’s. Dad gives Serena a hug, but looks just as serious (and so-o-o-o not happy) as Mom.
Me? I can’t stop grinning. I know, I know, it’s huge and probably bad timing (I wonder if Dad told Dr. Musty why he had to leave?), but I’ve got my best friend back. And she’s safe.
We’re a few miles out of Cartville when I remember I was supposed to meet up with Cameron to practice the ol’ evil eye. I call him on my cell.
“Is it okay if we reschedule for Friday after school? I can’t do it tonight after all.”
“Works for me,” he says. “Everything okay? I heard someone in a black car stopped by your house.”
Yeesh, Dr. Musty is totally right. Everyone knows everything about everyone in Cartville. “Yeah, we’re fine. Everything’s fine. Great, actually. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
This whole small town thing is a little eerie. I mean, what, Serena’s car was parked outside our house for, like, twenty minutes, right? And like an hour later, it’s all over town. Creepy. I still think it’s weird that there are so many vampires in the area. How do they keep anything a secret?
Serena actually falls asleep on the way there. I guess she’d driven the whole last stretch in one shot since she was so close and she’d run out of hotel money and didn’t want to sleep in her car again. Which I can definitely understand. The Death Beetle isn’t exactly spacious.
Her sleeping gives Mom and Dad the opportunity to give me a talking to. Which, okay, I expected. And I do learn a few things, including
a) we’re actually still on some kind of probation because of all of our past misdeeds (not telling The Council about me, me turning without filing the proper forms, etc. etc. ad nauseam),
b) Mom and Dad are trying hard to be on better terms with this regional council (the Southeast one) because they’re sick and tired of the whole cycle of fines and black marks on their record (hence the quickie trip to New Orleans), and
c) even Uncle Mortie is toeing the line and playing respectable. He’s opened a blood bar called The Cask and Casket around the corner from where a bunch of vampires first arrived in the area.
We head over to Uncle Mortie’s new digs as soon as we get in town. It’s pretty much exactly like what you’d expect from my uncle—down a seedy side street in the French Quarter with an old-fashioned looking sign. The front room of the blood bar is obviously for non-vampire (I hope) tourists, with kitschy, junky knickknacks (most of which are vampire themed).
“Isn’t this stuff a little obvious?” I ask Uncle Mortie after the obligatory family hugs.
“Good to see you too, oh favorite niece of mine.” He picks up a really goofy-looking black casket-shaped purse with a bone-shaped handle and feather trim. “But of course this stuff is obvious! It’s for tourists! New Orleans is known for vampires and voodoo and all kinds of other marketable stuff. The Ursuline convent just down the street and around the corner has a great old legend going about a bunch of casket-carrying mail-order brides. I sell an amazing number of these little purses. You like?” He hands one to me and I hand it right back. I may not be totally cool, but I am definitely cooler than that.
“I’ll take it,” says Serena, still yawning, and he hands it to her with a smile. Sigh. Obviously Serena’s somewhat questionable taste is still in full force. I was going to ask her about her new look in the car, actually, but didn’t get a chance before she fell asleep. I’m guessing it must be 1980s, what with the big hair, leggings, and the (obviously and slightly disgustingly vintage) Frankie Say Relax T-shirt.
Uncle Mortie leads us to the back room, which only vampires (clearly) get to go to. It has a huge old carved wooden bar in it and cushy (but definitely aging) leather bar stools, all of it barely lit by some ancient stained-glass lamps. Very circa 1800s, very cozy, and very Uncle Mortie. Call it shabby vampire chic, I suppose.
“So,” says Uncle Mortie, “I called the local Council representative. Beverly Boudreaux, from a very old vampire line here in New Orleans. She’s gathering up all the appropriate vampires so everyone can get their sticky little fingers involved. We’re supposed to head over at eight o’clock tonight. Be prepared—they’re a little different here from what you’re used to.”
“Different how?” asks Dad.
“Just different. You’ll see,” says Uncle Mortie.
Great. Here we go again.
Serena and I steal a tourist map from Uncle Mortie and escape to wander the French Quarter while the grown-ups do some strategic planning (or maybe just some restorative bloody sangria drinking, for all I know). Mom gave us some cash too, and told us to find something a little less colorful for Serena to wear, just in case. Just in case of what, I don’t know, but I can see her point. Everything Serena brought with her is pretty, well, loud.
New Orleans is even cooler than I had imagined it would be. Why couldn’t Dr. Musty have been based here? Sure, the city’s a little nasty smelling, especially around the bar areas, but it’s got tons of atmosphere. The people look cool (except the tourists; they just look like tourists), the buildings are really neat in an old, rusty, ornate kind of way, and it’s just got an all around funky vibe. There are even street performers. (We see one dude spray painted completely gold and another one dressed as a robot.) I can definitely see how New Orleans could be a really romantic city (even including Uncle Mortie’s Cask and Casket bar, with its mood lighting).
There are tons of cool shops with all kinds of stuff, including some nice outfits. I talk Serena into a basic pair of jeans and a NOLA T-shirt from a tourist trap.
She changes into the new outfit and then points to the gold lettering on the shirt. “‘No LA’? What, do they hate Los Angeles or something?”
“Ha, you’re such a tourist noob! N-O-L-A for New Orleans, Louisiana.” I punch her on the shoulder and she falls into me and giggles.
It feels so good to just be hanging with Serena again. I feel like I’ve been off balance since we moved. Not having Serena around is like not having a piece of myself. But now life is normal again.
Okay, maybe not entirely normal considering the Council meeting hanging over our heads, but Mina-normal at least.
We still have some time until we need to meet up with Mom and Dad. So we check out a couple more French Quarter shops (an incredibly cool hat place with hats that cost way more than I can afford, a kind of disturbingly weird store with a bunch of exotic animal skins, and the ultimate socialite shop: doggie clothes and trinkets for those itty bitty yappy dogs). Then we make our way over to the original Café Du Monde (also in the French Quarter, but in a mostly less seedy section) and order up some coffee (Heaven! Good coffee! No espresso, but coffee strong enough to be almost as good) and two orders of beignets (double heaven—fried doughnutty goodness). All of this makes me think about George, since this is what we should be doing together.
Serena, of course, always seems to know exactly what I’m thinking.
“Have you heard from George yet?”
“No,” I say and then decide to change the subject. Way too depressing. “Now tell me what’s up with you and Nathan. The last time we talked about the possibility of you and a little bloodsucking, you flat out turned it down because of Nathan.”
“I know. But that was before all the drama with my family. I really like Nathan and I think he really likes me, but he just doesn’t get me.”
“Get you? Or get your clothes?” I poke her in the ribs. Not that I get the clothes either, but I’m used to it by now. Retro eighties is still better than some of her phases, and I’ll definitely take it over Goth any day. At least this look has color.
“Both!” She pokes me back and somehow, ten minutes later, we’re both covered in powdered sugar from the beignets. Good thing we’d picked an outside table.
“You know,” she says
while brushing some sugar off my hair, “death looks good on you.”
“Undeath, thank you very much.” I know what she means, actually. Lots of things in the Mina-looks department have improved:
a) no more ladybug-size pimples (not that I was ever a total pizza-face like this poor girl I used to go to school with, but when I did get one, they were always huge and right on the tip of my nose so I looked like Rudolph),
b) my hair behaves a lot better and almost has what you could call “style,” though I have no idea why (that certainly wasn’t one of the benefits that G.W. mentioned in class),
c) not like I was flabby before, but now I’m definitely all toned up—no flab at all, not even like tummy pooch or anything, and
d) my eyes, which were more brownish hazel before, are now like ultrablue, kind of like a Siamese cat. Which is cool, if I do say so myself.
“Yeah,” I say, “the outward physical stuff is all pretty good, except for the pale skin thing. But I guess you’re used to that already. I just keep a bottle of sunscreen in my backpack all the time now.”
“That’s not a big deal,” Serena says.
It really isn’t. It’s actually easier here than it was in California, since there’s no beach to lie out on. And it’s not like vampires are albino pale anyway. We’re just like Canadian pale. I shake some more powdered sugar from my hair.
“And it is kind of cool to never get tired. But I do miss sleeping.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. But you get a lot done, right? I can’t count how many times I’ve wished I could just skip a night’s sleep to get something done.”
“Yeah, and it’ll be way cooler once you’ve turned too! It’ll be like a sleepover every night!” That might be the best thing about her turning. For me, at least. I mean, one night is fine, but you kind of run out of things to do when you string a bunch of them together. Hanging with Serena will be way more fun than hanging with my parents. I’ve always heard a lot of vampires live in New York City. I bet that’s why it’s really called The City That Never Sleeps. Hey, we could even move there someday! Just the two of us. Oh man, I can hardly wait!
“You think once I turn, I’ll end up looking like you?” Serena asks.
It’s so exciting to think about her turning. Kinda freaky, but exciting. She’ll be like my sister. Blood sisters, I guess, though that sounds more gross than good. Let’s just say she’ll be part of my family.
“Well, definitely the eyes will look like mine. I don’t think turning will do anything for your fashion sense though.” That almost kicks off another round of sugar-flying, but we restrain ourselves as a couple of tourists sit down next to us.
“I guess we better get back,” I say. Though I really kind of hate to leave. This has been so much fun.
We leave a good tip on the table even though it doesn’t look like anyone else is (Uncle Mortie taught me that—if you leave a big mess, leave a big tip and they’ll always forgive you).
We start heading to The Cask and Casket to meet up with everyone. Uncle Mortie’s found his niche, I think, since on the walk back, like, five people ask us where Serena got her purse. Go figure.
21
The Council building is in what must be one of the oldest parts of New Orleans. Most of the buildings look pretty rundown and the streets are really quiet and dark. None of the street lights are working either (apparently on purpose, or maybe because they all used to be gas lights and no one ever bothered to convert them to electric). The windows are all shuttered, and honestly, it’s all pretty sketchy, if you ask me. Serena is really, really quiet as we walk down the street, and she’s holding on tight to my hand.
And I guess the vampires we have run into probably aren’t making her feel any more comfortable. New Orleans seems to have a high concentration of vampires stuck in the past. We’ve seen at least a handful dressed in everything from a top hat and tails to one of those crazy flouncy dresses with all the ruffles. I guess they can get away with it here since tourists probably just think they’re all part of the show that is New Orleans. Some of them don’t even seem to bother hiding their fangs. It looks really bizarre. And I don’t know how they stand it. The fangs-out look is not all that comfortable. I swear I bite my lip every time I have them out.
We know the building when we get to it, even without Uncle Mortie’s say-so. It’s a huge old moss-covered stone building with vines snaking up the front columns and gothic style arches. I bet it’s even on some of the city tours—it’s that impressive. Well, if anyone would dare walk down here.
I keep hold of Serena’s hand as we all walk in with Uncle Mortie leading the way. Her eyes are huge, though I guess I can’t blame her. The Council back home in California wasn’t anywhere near as impressive or creepy as this. They must have really bought into the whole vampire literature propaganda here. And then they charge people for it, like Uncle Mortie does. Kind of crazy.
The first room is like a lobby with big marble columns and even more marble on the floor. There are about ten or fifteen vampires just milling around, all of them giving us the eye as we walk through. Uncle Mortie nods to a few. “Evenin’, Mortimer,” says one politely and even tips his hat to me and Mom and Serena. We keep following Uncle Mortie down a hallway with peeling wallpaper and these really dour-looking portraits hanging on the wall. They could seriously film a movie in here. It’d have to be a horror flick, but it’s definitely camera ready. I’m actually finding it kind of funny, though I’m sure Serena isn’t at all. About now she’s probably wondering what in the heck she’s gotten herself into. I give her hand a gentle squeeze.
We finally get to what must be the official Council chamber. Seven vampires are seated at a long table in front of this absolutely humongous fireplace. You could probably cook an entire cow in the thing, it’s so big. Instead of a fire, the hearth is piled up with different candles of all different colors. There are even candles on top of candles, where the old ones had burned down.
It would have been sort of cool if not for the skull right in the middle of it all with a red candle burning inside of it. Somebody should seriously check out HGTV for some helpful tips on what NOT to do. I mean, really.
Uncle Mortie leads us down the aisle. There are chairs lined up on either side and quite a few of them are filled up with vampires craning their necks to get a look at us. I guess he wasn’t kidding about everybody coming down to see the show. Serena’s looking around like she can’t believe what she’s seeing, and I don’t blame her at all. There are some very wacky vampires in attendance. The worst is probably the guy in the long black cape, but then again, the lady in the all black leather catsuit is up there on the whacked scale too. I bet this is a great Halloween group. They could just come as they are.
We stop in front of the table and Uncle Mortie actually bows. I attempt a quick curtsy and almost tip Serena over. Mom pulls us both straight and shoots me a look. Well, it’s not my fault. They can’t expect someone born any time in the last fifty years to actually know how to curtsy correctly. I was just trying to do the whole when in Rome thing.
“Welcome, Smith family and guest.” The speaker must be that Beverly lady Uncle Mortie mentioned. She’s sitting in the center of the table and is (thankfully) pretty normally dressed in a basic black dress. “We have called this emergency meeting of the Southeast Regional Vampire Council per your request to discuss the application of one Serena Spivey to our ranks.”
I’m sure everyone in the whole house hears Serena gulp. But she lets go of my hand and steps forward to curtsy (much better than me). That’s my girl.
Another fellow on The Council (thankfully again, just an average-looking dude in a suit … I’m sure my dad is now wishing he’d brought a change of clothes and dressed up a little) nods at the rest of us and waves us toward the chairs. We all sit, though I feel weird leaving Serena up there alone. Is this what normally happens when someone declares they want to turn? Or is this just some weird Southern vampire thing?
�
��So, Miss Spivey, we understand you wish to become one of us. Can you tell us how you learned of our … way of life?” Well, I don’t think she actually wants to become one of you is what I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut since the next bit Serena says may or may not get me into big trouble. Like a craptastic amount of trouble with a capital T. Or I guess that would be a C. We really should have come up with a cover story instead of just eating doughnuts.
Serena looks straight at The Council member and says, “When my best friend Mina supposedly died, I just couldn’t accept it. Especially when there were a bunch of these pale-skinned people at her funeral who didn’t look all that sad. Then I saw someone online who sounded and acted just like Mina, even though they were using a different name. So I did a traceroute and figured out where that person was and came here to investigate. Mina and her family were always like family to me.”
That’s an utter load of hooey and hogwash (and I bet Serena doesn’t really know how to trace anything on the Internet either), but The Council seems to be buying it. Heck, even Dad looks kind of teary. I gotta say, Serena’s my girl. Her pulse doesn’t even give away that she’s totally lying through her teeth. Well, about part of it anyway. I do believe her that we’re like family, ’cause we are.
The Council confers with one another. One or more of them must have some kind of blocking skill or something, since I can’t tell what they’re saying even though we’re only a few yards away. Finally, Beverly stands up and bows her head to Serena. “We admire your persistence and dedication to your friends. Such perseverance speaks well of your abilities. We have decided to allow your application.” Then they all stand up and come around the table to shake her hand.
The other vampires seated around us all stand up too, and all of a sudden it’s like we’re in the middle of some little social gathering. A tuxedoed waiter guy comes out of nowhere with a tray full of wineglasses (or I guess that’s bloodglasses) and another lady appears with a tray of little tea sandwiches.
Still Sucks to Be Me: More All-True Confessions of Mina Hamilton, Teen Vampire Page 12
