There wasn’t a lock on the bathroom door. Pam stood outside so I wouldn’t be interrupted, and Eric’s second-in-command smiled when I came out, a bundle of my more mundane clothes rolled under my arm.
“You look good, Sookie,” Pam said. Pam herself had elected to wear a tuxedo made out of silver lamé. She was a sight. My hair has some curl to it, but Pam’s is a paler blonde and very straight. We both have blue eyes, but hers are a lighter shade and rounder, and she doesn’t blink much. “Eric will be very pleased.”
I flushed. Eric and I have a History. But since he had amnesia when we created that history, he doesn’t remember it. Pam does.
“Like I care what he thinks,” I said.
Pam smiled at me sideways. “Right,” she said. “You are totally indifferent. So is he.”
I tried to look like I was accepting her words on their surface level and not seeing through to the sarcasm. To my surprise, Pam gave me a light kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “You may perk him up. He’s been very hard to work for these past few days.”
“Why?” I asked, though I wasn’t real sure I wanted to know.
“Have you ever seen It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown?”
I stopped in my tracks. “Sure,” I said. “Have you?”
“Oh, yes,” Pam said calmly. “Many times.” She gave me a minute to absorb that. “Eric is like that on Dracula Night. He thinks, every year, that this time Dracula will pick his party to attend. Eric fusses and plans; he frets and stews. He sent the invitations back to the printer twice so they were late going out. Now that the night is actually here, he’s worked himself into a state.”
“So this is a case of hero worship gone crazy?”
“You have such a way with words,” Pam said admiringly. We were outside Eric’s office, and we could both hear him bellowing inside.
“He’s not happy with the new bartender. He thinks there are not enough bottles of the blood the Count is said to prefer, according to an interview in American Vampire.”
I tried to imagine Vlad Tepes, impaler of so many of his own countrymen, chatting with a reporter. I sure wouldn’t want to be the one holding the pad and pencil. “What brand would that be?” I scrambled to catch up with the conversation.
“The Prince of Darkness is said to prefer Royalty.” “Ew.” Why was I not surprised?
Royalty was a very, very rare bottled blood. I’d thought the brand was only a rumor until now. Royalty consisted of part-synthetic blood and part-real blood—the blood of, you guessed it, people of title. Before you go thinking of enterprising vamps ambushing that cute Prince William, let me reassure you. There were plenty of minor Royals in Europe who were glad to give blood for an astronomical sum.
“After a month’s worth of phone calls, we managed to get two bottles.” Pam was looking quite grim. “They cost more than we could afford. I’ve never known my maker to be other than business-wise, but this year Eric seems to be going overboard. Royalty doesn’t keep forever, you know, with the real blood in it . . . and now he’s worried that two bottles might not be enough. There is so much legend attached to Dracula, who can say what is true? He has heard that Dracula will only drink Royalty or . . . the real thing.”
“Real blood? But that’s illegal, unless you got a willing donor.”
Any vampire who took a human’s blood—against the human’s will—was liable to execution by stake or sunlight, according to the vamp’s choice. The execution was usually carried out by another vamp, kept on retainer by the state. I personally thought any vampire who took an unwilling person’s blood deserved the execution, because there were enough fang-bangers around who were more than willing to donate.
“And no vampire is allowed to kill Dracula, or even strike him,” Pam said, chiming right in on my thoughts. “Not that we’d want to strike our Prince, of course,” she added hastily.
Right, I thought.
“He is held in such reverence that any vampire who assaults him must meet the sun. And we’re also expected to offer our Prince financial assistance.”
I wondered if the other vampires were supposed to floss his fangs for him too.
The door to Eric’s office flew open with such vehemence that it bounced right back. It opened again more gently, and Eric emerged.
I had to gape. He looked positively edible. Eric is very tall, very broad, very blond, and tonight he was dressed in a tuxedo that had not come off any rack. This tux had been made for Eric, and he looked as good as any James Bond in it. Black cloth without a speck of lint, a snowy white shirt, and a hand-tied bow at his throat, and his beautiful hair rippling down his back . . .
“James Blond,” I muttered.
Eric’s eyes were blazing with excitement. Without a word, he dipped me as though we were dancing and planted a hell of a kiss on me: lips, tongue, the entire osculant assemblage. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. When I was quivering, he assisted me to rise. His brilliant smile revealed glistening fangs. Eric had enjoyed himself.
“Hello to you too,” I said tartly, once I was sure I was breathing again.
“My delicious friend,” Eric said, and bowed.
I wasn’t sure I could be correctly called a friend, and I’d have to take his word for it that I was delicious. “What’s the program for the evening?” I asked, hoping that my host would calm down very soon.
“We’ll dance, listen to music, drink blood, watch the entertainment, and wait for the Count to come,” Eric said. “I’m so glad you’ll be here tonight. We have a wide array of special guests, but you’re the only telepath.”
“Okay,” I said faintly.
“You look especially lovely tonight,” said Lyle. He’d been standing right behind Eric, and I hadn’t even noticed him. Slight and narrow-faced, with spiked black hair, Lyle didn’t have the presence Eric had acquired in a thousand years of life. Lyle was a visiting vamp from Alexandria, interning at the very successful Fangtasia because he wanted to open his own vampire bar. Lyle was carrying a small cooler, taking great care to keep it level.
“The Royalty,” Pam explained in a neutral voice.
“Can I see?” I asked.
Eric lifted the lid and showed me the contents: two blue bottles (for the blue blood, I presumed), with labels that bore the logo of a tiara and the single word ROYALTY in Gothic script.
“Very nice,” I said, underwhelmed.
“He’ll be so pleased,” Eric said, sounding as happy as I’d ever heard him.
“You sound oddly sure that the—that Dracula will be coming,” I said. The hall was crowded, and we began moving to the public part of the club.
“I was able to have a business discussion with the Master’s handler,” he said. “I was able to express how much having the Master’s presence would honor me and my establishment.”
Pam rolled her eyes at me.
“You bribed him,” I translated. Hence Eric’s extra excitement this year, and his purchase of the Royalty.
I had never suspected Eric harbored this depth of hero-worship for anyone except himself. I would never have believed Eric would spend good money for such a reason, either. Eric was charming and enterprising, and he took good care of his employees; but the first person on Eric’s admiration list was Eric, and his own well-being was Eric’s number one priority.
“Dear Sookie, you’re looking less than excited,” Pam said, grinning at me. Pam loved to make trouble, and she was finding fertile ground tonight. Eric swung his head back to give me a look, and Pam’s face relaxed into its usual bland smoothness.
“Don’t you believe it will happen, Sookie?” he asked. From behind his back, Lyle rolled his eyes. He was clearly fed up with Eric’s fantasy.
I’d just wanted to come to a party in a pretty dress and have a good time, and here I was, up a conversational creek.
“We’ll all find out, won’t we?” I said brightly, and Eric seemed satisfied. “The club looks beautiful.” Normally, Fangtasia was the plainest place you could
imagine, besides the lively gray and red paint scheme and the neon. The floors were concrete, the tables and chairs basic metal restaurant furnishings, the booths not much better. I could not believe that Fangtasia had been so transformed. Banners had been hung from the club’s ceiling. Each banner was white with a red bear on it: a sort of stylized bear on its hind legs, one paw raised to strike.
“That’s a replica of the Master’s personal flag,” Pam said in answer to my pointed finger. “Eric paid an historian at LSU to research it.” Her expression made it clear she thought Eric had been gypped, big-time.
In the center of Fangtasia’s small dance floor stood an actual throne on a small dais. As I neared the throne, I decided Eric had rented it from a theater company. It looked good from thirty feet away, but up close . . . not so much. However, it had been freshened up with a plump red cushion for the Dark Prince’s derrière, and the dais was placed in the exact middle of a square of dark red carpet. All the tables had been covered with white or dark red cloths, and elaborate flower arrangements were in the middle of each table. I had to laugh when I examined one of the arrangements: in the explosion of red carnations and greenery were miniature coffins and full-size stakes. Eric’s sense of humor had surfaced, finally.
Instead of WDED, the all-vampire radio station, the sound system was playing some very emotional violin music that was both scratchy and bouncy. “Transylvanian music,” said Lyle, his face carefully expressionless. “Later, the DJ Duke of Death will take us for a musical journey.” Lyle looked as though he would rather eat snails.
Against one wall by the bar, I spied a small buffet for beings who ate food, and a large blood fountain for those who didn’t. The red fountain, flowing gently down several tiers of gleaming milky glass bowls, was surrounded by crystal goblets. Just a wee bit over the top. “Golly,” I said weakly as Eric and Lyle went over to the bar.
Pam shook her head in despair. “The money we spent,” she said.
Not too surprisingly, the room was full of vampires. I recognized a few of the bloodsuckers present: Indira, Thalia, Clancy, Maxwell Lee, and Bill Compton, my ex. There were at least twenty more I had only seen once or twice, vamps who lived in Area Five under Eric’s authority. There were a few bloodsuckers I didn’t know at all, including a guy behind the bar who must be the new bartender. Fangtasia ran through bartenders pretty quickly.
There were also some creatures in the bar who were not vamps and not human, members of Louisiana’s supernatural community. The head of Shreveport’s werewolf pack, Colonel Flood, was sitting at a table with Calvin Norris, the leader of the small community of were-panthers who lived in and around Hot Shot, outside of Bon Temps. Colonel Flood, now retired from the Air Force, was sitting stiffly erect in a good suit, while Calvin was wearing his own idea of party clothes—a Western shirt, new jeans, cowboy boots, and a black cowboy hat. He tipped it to me when he caught my eye, and he gave me a nod that expressed admiration. Colonel Flood’s nod was less personal but still friendly.
Eric had also invited a short, broad man who strongly reminded me of a goblin I’d met once. I was sure this male was a member of the same race. Goblins are testy and ferociously strong, and when they are angry their touch can burn, so I decided to stay a good distance away from this one. He was deep in conversation with a very thin woman with mad eyes. She was wearing an assemblage of leaves and vines. I wasn’t going to ask.
Of course, there weren’t any fairies. Fairies are as intoxicating to vampires as sugar water is to hummingbirds.
Behind the bar was the newest member of the Fangtasia staff, a short, burly, man with long, wavy dark hair. He had a prominent nose and large eyes, and he was taking everything in with an air of amusement while he moved around preparing drink orders.
“Who’s that?” I asked, nodding toward the bar. “And who are the strange vamps? Is Eric expanding?”
Pam said, “If you’re in transit on Dracula Night, the protocol is to check in at the nearest sheriff’s headquarters and share in the celebration there. That’s why there are vampires here you haven’t met. The new bartender is Milos Griesniki, a recent immigrant from the Old Countries. He is disgusting.”
I stared at Pam. “How so?” I asked.
“A sneaker. A prier.”
I’d never heard Pam express such a strong opinion, and I looked at the vampire with some curiosity.
“He tries to discover how much money Eric has, and how much the bar makes, and how much our little human barmaids get paid.”
“Speaking of whom, where are they?” The waitresses and the rest of the everyday staff, all vampire groupies (known in some circles as fang-bangers), were usually much in evidence, dressed in filmy black and powdered almost as pale as the real vampires.
“Too dangerous for them on this night,” Pam said simply. “You will see that Indira and Clancy are serving the guests.” Indira was wearing a beautiful sari; she usually wore jeans and T-shirts, so I knew she had made an effort to dress up for the occasion. Clancy, who had rough red hair and bright green eyes, was in a suit. That was also a first. Instead of a regular tie, he wore a scarf tied into a floppy bow, and when I caught his eye he swept his hand from his head to his pants to demand my admiration. I smiled and nodded, though truthfully I liked Clancy better in his usual tough-guy clothes and heavy boots.
Eric was buzzing from table to table. He hugged and bowed and talked like a demented thing, and I didn’t know if I found this endearing or alarming. I decided it was both. I’d definitely discovered Eric’s weak side.
I talked to Colonel Flood and Calvin for a few minutes. Colonel Flood was as polite and distant as he always was; he didn’t care much for non-Weres, and now that he had retired, he only dealt with regular people when he had to. Calvin told me that he’d put a new roof on his house himself, and invited me to go fishing with him when the weather was warmer. I smiled but didn’t commit to anything. My grandmother had loved fishing, but I was only good for two hours, tops, and then I was ready to do something else. I watched Pam doing her second-in-command job, making sure all the visiting vampires were happy, sharply admonishing the new bartender when he made a mistake with a drink order. Milos Griesniki gave her back a scowl that made me shiver. But if anyone could take care of herself, it was Pam.
Clancy, who’d been managing the club for a month, was checking every table to make sure there were clean ashtrays (some of the vampires smoked) and that all dirty glasses and other discarded items were removed promptly. When DJ Duke of Death took over, the music changed to something with a beat. Some of the vampires turned out onto the dance floor, flinging themselves around with the extreme abandon only the undead show.
Calvin and I danced a couple of times, but we were nowhere in the vampire league. Eric claimed me for a slow dance, and though he was clearly distracted by thoughts of what the night might hold—Dracula-wise—he made my toenails quiver.
“Some night,” he whispered, “there’s going to be nothing else but you and me.”
When the song was over, I had to go back to the table and have a long, cold drink. Lots of ice.
As the time drew closer to midnight, the vampires gathered around the blood fountain and filled the crystal goblets. The non-vamp guests also rose to their feet. I was standing beside the table where I’d been chatting with Calvin and Colonel Flood when Eric brought out a tabletop hand-gong and began to strike it. If he’d been human, he’d have been flushed with excitement; as it was, his eyes were blazing. Eric looked both beautiful and scary, because he was so intent.
When the last reverberation had shivered into silence, Eric raised his own glass high and said, “On this most memorable of days, we stand together in awe and hope that the Lord of Darkness will honor us with his presence. O Prince, appear to us!”
We actually all stood in hushed silence, waiting for the Great Pumpkin—oh, wait, the Dark Prince. Just when Eric’s face began to look downcast, a harsh voice broke the tension.
“My loyal son, I sh
all reveal myself!”
Milos Griesniki leaped from behind the bar, pulling off his tux jacket and pants and his shirt to reveal . . . an incredible jumpsuit made from black, glittery, stretchy stuff. I would have expected to see it on a girl going to her prom, a girl without much money who was trying to look unconventional and sexy. With his blocky body and dark hair and mustache, the one-piece made Milos look more like an acrobat in a third-rate circus.
There was an excited babble of low-voiced reaction. Calvin said, “Well . . . shit.” Colonel Flood gave a sharp nod, to say he agreed completely.
The bartender posed regally before Eric, who after a startled instant bowed before the much shorter vampire. “My lord,” Eric said, “I am humbled. That you should honor us . . . that you should actually be here . . . on this day, of all days . . . I am overcome.”
“Fucking poser,” Pam muttered in my ear. She’d glided up behind me in the hubbub following the bartender’s announcement.
“You think?” I was watching the spectacle of the confident and regal Eric babbling away, actually sinking down on one knee.
Dracula made a hushing gesture, and Eric’s mouth snapped shut in mid-sentence. So did the mouths of every vamp in the place. “Since I have been here incognito for a week,” Dracula said grandly, his accent harsh but not unattractive, “I have become so fond of this place that I propose to stay for a year. I will take your tribute while I am here, to live in the style I enjoyed during life. Though the bottled Royalty is acceptable as a stop-gap, I, Dracula, do not care for this modern habit of drinking artificial blood, so I will require one woman a day. This one will do to start with.” He pointed at me, and Colonel Flood and Calvin moved instantly to flank me, a gesture I appreciated. The vampires looked confused, an expression which didn’t sit well on undead faces; except Bill. His face went completely blank.
Eric followed Vlad Tepes’s stubby finger, identifying me as the future Happy Meal. Then he stared at Dracula, looking up from his kneeling position. I couldn’t read his face at all, and I felt a stirring of fear. What would Charlie Brown have done if the Great Pumpkin wanted to eat the little red-haired girl?
In the Footsteps of Dracula Page 59
