by D. R. Perry
There’s an infrequently mentioned part of the vampire mythos that comes to mind. The whole thing about getting absorbed in a task to the point of obsession is absolutely true. Most frequently, this supposed trait of ours involves the need to count things. Maybe categorizing the facts is close enough. Staring at the diagram I’ve made on the wall, I’m practically in a state of hypnosis. Nah, that's too clinical a term. It's more like a reverie.
That’s why the knock at the door startles me so much.
“Honestly, Tino.” Stephanie’s voice drowns out the minuscule squeak from the door’s hinge that follows my little scream. “There’s no need to shriek like a bat.”
"Sorry." I shrug, closing the notebook at my side. When I turn I see Stephanie's holding another one. Of course. She always hands me some reading material though it’s usually just once in any given fiasco. Didn’t she already give me homework? Oh, yeah. The Waste Land. But I reach out for the tome she’s carrying, anyway.
"No, this book is not for you." Stephanie tucks the volume under her arm, then crosses the room and sits on the edge of the cot.
"Thank God."
"Well, if that's how you feel about it, I won't make any more reading recommendations in the future." She sniffs, then gives me a sideways glance.
"That's not what I'm saying. It's just that every time you recommend something for me to read, I get in trouble."
"Correlation does not equal causation." Stephanie sniffs again. If she were human, I’d think she was allergic to something in here. But she’s not. Actions she takes that are normal for the mortal set are usually deliberately left hints when it comes to her. Subtext. Unspoken messages, probably ways around communicating something she’s bound by some vow not to say with words.
Unfortunately for Steph, I’m too dense to get most of them. So I do the only reasonable thing. Make a pop culture reference.
"Have you been watching Star Trek?"
"Not recently, no." She raises an eyebrow, then smirks in an all-too-familiar fashion. "Mr. Spock is one of my favorite characters, however."
"Geez Stephanie, just when I think I've got you pegged–"
"Pegging notwithstanding,” She clears her throat. Yeah, that subtext is brighter than a neon sign. “I hear your application is done. Congratulations, by the way.”
“Are you making fun of me?” I extend my finger as though I’m the parental figure and about to scold her.
“I came here for a reason." Did her smirk just get perkier? I'll take things I never wanted to know about my vampire mom friend for five hundred, Alex.
"Okay, then.” I let the dig or whatever it is slide. I can figure out the whole implication that I smell funny go for now, too. “Lay it on me."
"We've got a little mission to do this evening."
"Oh?" I blink. Not because I'm surprised she's got work for me but that the day passed so quickly.
"Yes. It's important. King's business."
"I'm sort of kind of working on that high-paying case right now." I jerk my chin at one cluster of notes. "And some of my own King's business. Can it wait?"
"No. This is far more time-sensitive than your project." Stephanie sighs. "I can assure you, however, that it will take very little out of your evening from a temporal standpoint."
Leave it to Stephanie to overstate what could be said with extreme brevity. Shitballs. I’m doing it now, too. But this is my story so you’ll have to deal with it.
"Well, then,” I stand up. "Let's go and get the thing over with. Whatever it is."
Stephanie only nods, then leads the way out of the room, down the hall, and up the basement stairs. I sometimes wonder why she needs to phrase practically everything with five hundred SAT words. But of course when she learned them, there was no such thing as standardized testing. Sometimes I feel like us newer vampires got the short end of the stick. Modern conveniences are convenient mostly for living people, not the undead. Especially when it comes to education.
"See you later, Tino!" It's Frankie, sitting at the kitchen table with his sister Sarah and his brother Levi. They're having what looks like mutton stew for dinner, and it smells heavenly. One of the things I miss most about being really alive is food. Sometimes I wish I had Maya's telepathic talent, simply because I'd be able to experience food again just by touching somebody who's eating. But even without that ability, I give Frankie’s shoulder a friendly pat on the way out of the kitchen and through the back door. I don't want things to get awkward between us, no matter what happens. He's a good guy, just trying to do the right thing by his family. We've got a lot in common that way.
Once we're outside, Stephanie lets me walk down the steps. She closes the door behind us, locks it, then stands and waits. I wonder what for until I remember that Stephanie doesn't have a car, doesn't even drive. This is probably why she needs me with her this evening. As a chauffeur. Although she's always managed to get herself to vampire gatherings without me in the past, I don't have any idea how. I'm sure it's not Lyft or Uber, though.
I thought I had it figured out at some point, but I can't for the life of me remember anything I discovered about my sire off the top of my head. It's all in the notebook, and I left that downstairs. Because of course, I did. Considering where we’re going, that’s probably for the best, though. The last thing I want is Whitby or his people getting my notes.
I take a look at the damaged trunk and bumper. There’s a set of bungee cords wrapped around the detached end, anchoring it to the caved-in trunk. I definitely didn’t put them there, so it must have been one of the daywalking Pickerings. Probably Frankie, but maybe Levi. I can’t imagine Sarah doing MacGyver-style auto repair, although I’ve seen stranger things.
After I get to the driver’s side door and open it, I'm about to sit down when I notice Stephanie standing next to the passenger side, examining her fingernails. I shake my head, walk around the car to open the door for her, and wave vaguely at the empty seat inside. She's way too formal about stuff like this, but maybe she's got her reasons. Judging them is beyond me.
"I invite you into my vehicle, Stephanie." I waggle my eyebrows like I'm in a Groucho Marx short because that's how I feel. Like a total clown. I know we don't need invitations, there’s no compulsion for that like there is for us to drink blood. But older vampires tend to stick to some of those legendary rules folks assume are absolute truths in an existence like mine.
"I'd tell you not to be a fool, Tino, but that’s a useless admonition." Stephanie buckles her seatbelt. After I close the door on her, she peers at me through the window, grinning. Maybe this is her attempt at a sort of dry humor. She’s definitely not as clueless as the angel in the trench coat on that show with the monster-hunting brothers. If only my car was as cool as theirs.
Once I'm in the driver seat and belted in, I pull out of the driveway and on to Ocean Avenue. I can practically drive with my eyes closed to the building in Providence I like to think of as the vampire club. I've only been undead since mid-spring, but there are some things that just stick with you immediately. Knowing where I have to go in order to follow the basic vampire laws is a good thing, and I'm thankful it’s not just another victim of my crappy recall. Too bad I can't use whatever that is to make everything else stick in my memory.
I find us parking on Weybosset Street, which isn't surprising given that Thursday is still a weeknight. Downtown Providence is kind of a ghost town after dark unless it's Friday or Saturday night. I hope it's not a literal ghost town because the idea of poltergeists scares me. Imagining invisible people watching every single embarrassing thing that happens to us is truly creepy. But that's another story. Stephanie gets out of the car all by herself, closes the door, too. I practically want to give her one of those stickers that says, I adulted today. As we crossed the street, I chuckle at the stray thought.
"You'll need to tone it back, Valentino."
"You really think King Whitby is going to be that pissed off if I bust out laughing?"
"He'l
l never let you know it until he decides one of your actions is an offense punishable by death."
"Well, you know the guy better than I do." I shrug. "Is he really much worse than I thought DeCampo was?"
"Indubitably."
"Awesome." I nod. "Thanks for telling me."
"Just follow my lead, Tino. We are here to request a small monthly blood supply from the court's reserves. If we give Whitby any reason to deny a request that reasonable, there'll be no salvaging this endeavor."
I shut my trap and make a motion like I'm locking it up with the key. I wish it was real, sort of. The last thing I want is a padlock hanging from my lower lip, but it's the thought that counts. I need to keep my mouth closed so my foot doesn't end up in it. If Stephanie thinks we can't get enough blood to feed five vamps on our own, she's probably right. We need this court's help, and it's clear Steph thinks we're unlikely to get it just by asking our sworn enemy politely.
Stephanie makes with the secret knock, the taps of her knuckles echoing against the weathered wood of the door. It opens on a familiar face, Peligro Cabeza. I don't smile at the goofy precognitive vampire even though I used to like the guy. Probably still do, but if he's hanging around with Whitby, he might be an enemy no matter how amusing his antics seem. Then again, he might be in the same predicament as Maya used to be. I decide to be civil unless Peligro gives me a reason to act otherwise.
"Guests!" His mouth drops into a little round o of feigned surprise. Yeah, I know it's fake because his eyes don't match his mouth. Reading people is like watching oncoming traffic. The turn signal might be on, but if the wheels don’t move to one side or the other, the car's going straight. So I think Peligro isn't turning. That information would be a Hell of a lot more valuable if only I knew which side he was on in all of this.
"May we enter to visit his Majesty?" Stephanie's tone does nothing to indicate her disdain for Whitby or her disbelief in his claim to the title of King. Which is as it should be. Steph's not just old, she's experienced in high vampire society and knows all the proper manners to go with it.
"Yes! Si! Ja! Da!" Peligro stands aside and waves us through. “Mazel Tov!”
Everything's different now. Whether Whitby made changes for aesthetic reasons or in the hopes that redecorating would reinforce whatever whammy plagues the memories of the vampires in Providence, I don't care. I hate this crappy frigging place now. Which is a shame because I used to like it here. If it's one thing I can't stand, it's old buildings that get renovated out of their character. And boy howdy, this historic register worthy place now looks like something out of Martha Stewart's living, circa nineteen ninety-two.
Everything's white. Last time I walked down this hallway, the walls were highly polished, warm cherry-stained wood. And this pretend-y king-time asshole had someone cover everything in here with something like five hundred gallons of whitewash. I find myself wishing I could vomit up a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, a good old technicolor yawn like I used to have back in my food days, just to brighten the place up a little bit. But that's a lost cause. The best way to return this place to its former glory is to depose Whitby and put DeCampo back in the seat he rightfully owns.
When Peligro leads us to the main gathering room, I find that the new decor choices are everywhere. But what am I going to do? Cry about it? Of course not. Tonight, my job is to position myself meekly behind Stephanie, follow her instructions, and let her do her thing. Whatever that is.
She approaches the dais and its brand-new throne. It looks like somebody brought Dr. Frank-N-Furter's chair from that creepy old mansion in The Rocky Horror Picture Show into a WhiteOut factory and dunked it in a vat of correction fluid seventeen times.
I'm pressing my lips together because it's hard not to smile at the images my manic brain is creating. I figure looking stern for this entire little charade is for the best. I can manage that much with my old acting experience, at least. Even though I don't know if my chosen fake demeanor is entirely correct, and at this point, I don't care. I'm basically an accessory of Stephanie's right now, anyway. Like a nice, humanoid handbag or something. She’d better not call me Louis Vuitton, or I’ll get even scowlier.
"Your Majesty, King Whitby of Providence, I greet you." Stephanie curtsies deeply enough that even in her typical Hepburn-inspired boat neck top, she's probably flashing at least a little bit of cleavage. This makes sense because the going rumor is that Whitby's got a thing for her. Eww.
"We greet you in return, with similar sentiment." I should have known Whitby would use the “Royal We” like the asshole he is. It would've been nice to be pleasantly surprised, but nothing about this guy has ever been above the level of borderline tolerable.
The woman to the right of Whitby leans and whispers something in his ear. Because we're vampires, Stephanie and I hear every word she says. This is typical and expected in vampire courts. Even DeCampo and Raven whispered to each other, knowing perfectly well everyone in the room could hear what they were saying. This is why they often speak in a sort of code, or at times in languages I don't recognize. But Whitby and his attaché, Mrs. Kent, do no such thing now.
"Sire, show them no hospitality they wouldn't give us."
"I'll show them exactly what I feel like, no more or less, Kent."
I close my eyes to hide the fact that the verbal venom between the two of them shocks me. Blinking is my usual response to that emotion, but I can't give my feelings away in so obvious a fashion. Well, at least not without Stephanie's express permission, which she hasn't had a chance to either grant or rescind. Crap. Now I sound like her. But that doesn’t matter. It’s more important right now to pretend my face is made of Botox.
"What brings you here this evening, Miss McQueen?"
"A simple and routine request, Your Majesty. If I may have a moment of your time?"
"If your request is, as you say, routine and simple, then a moment in private is not necessary." Mrs. Kent taps her foot, and I see it now. The green monster, envy. She’s jealous of Steph. Well, what else is new? So am I. She knows practically everything, and never makes a mistake. But I think there's an extra dynamic between them that comes from competing for Whitby's, uh, attention.
"We meet as we please, Attaché." Whitby remains seated, yet somehow still manages to look down his nose at Mrs. Kent. I hate the guy but have to admit he's a grandmaster of condescension. Not that it's anything I'd aspire to.
"Merely a suggestion, your Majesty." Mrs. Kent takes a step backward, the force of Whitby's disdain harsh enough to make her stagger. Or at least that's how I view her movement.
"Miss McQueen, approach the throne."
Stephanie navigates the two steps up the dais. I make as though to follow, but Peligro’s hand on my arm stops me. I still myself, despite all the alarm bells going off in my head and heart. The pit of my stomach drops with uncustomary fear for Stephanie. It wasn't long ago that I came to appreciate how important a figure she is in my unlife. The last thing I want to do is lose her in any sense at this point.
But it doesn't look like I'm losing Stephanie. As she approaches Whitby, his eyes widen and his nostrils flare, as though he's trying to take in as much of her presence as possible. It reminds me of the sting operation Maury and I went on at a strip club two years ago. The corrupt banker in the VIP room looked at the topless dancer entertaining him with a similar expression. For the record, we arrested that banker. The dancer had done nothing wrong after all. The biggest difference between those two situations is the balance of power. In that case, the banker had it all until we walked through that beaded curtain. But tonight, Stephanie is ascendant.
I'm not sure whether she's using a vampish power or not. The older a vampire gets, the more abilities they can develop. It's something about the length of time they've existed and the activities they've engaged in throughout the decades. Nobody's been able to explain it to me exactly, but I know that the reason the oldest is given the throne is that they literally have more power than other vamps. Also,
they're less free to act directly because they've made a ton of vows over the years.
It's no secret to me that Stephanie McQueen is older than Whitby. The rest of the vampires here, however, are under the effects of that unknown memory-altering magic. They've got no idea the guy they’re following isn’t the oldest vampire in Rhode Island, and I realize that Stephanie is using this dynamic to her advantage. None of them move to stop her, or even seem to suspect she's using vampire wooj on their monarch. Why would they? As far as they know, Steph’s not much older than I am.
The hand on my arm squeezes. Maybe Peligro knows something's up, too. He is psychic, after all; according to Maya, he's precognitive. Either he's seeing something of note happening in the future, or he has seen this before and is getting a major case of déjà vu. I don't dare look at him to try figuring out which. Stephanie said not to make any waves, so I'm staying her course. But I do back down and stand next to Peligro like a good little vampire.
"I'm here to request a monthly allotment of blood from Providence's reserves for me and mine."
"And you aren't finding your own in Warwick where there’s a hospital? Why?"
"You and I both know who the real power is here." Stephanie lifts her chin in a gesture I can't interpret. That's probably by design. Exposing the throat is either a sign of challenge or one of submission, depending on context and setting. I realize exactly how out of depth I am in the situation, and I'm glad I didn't try coming here on my own at any point in the recent past. Which I might've done if I hadn't been so busy with everything else, a point I'm sure is not lost on Stephanie.
"And what will you offer my court in return?"
"The services of my childe, Valentino Crispo." And just like that, Stephanie throws me under the Whitby-shaped bus.
The gravity in the pit of my stomach switches over to fire and Rage. I'm about to speak, and possibly even rush the dais and my sire. It's nothing personal, I swear. Rages are just one of the more inconvenient parts of being a vampire. Usually, they’re brought on by fire or hunger, but in rare cases, a dire enough insult will do it. As you see now by my reaction.
