Blood Lite II: Overbite

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Dewey stepped away from his adoring public and parked himself in front of the bar. At his left arm sat a girl in a purple corset that hardly covered her breasts and a pouffed black lace skirt that hardly covered her butt. To Dewey’s right, a stocky biker guy started chatting him up. Biker Boy wore a Phantasm T-shirt and horror movie patches on his jacket. I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a costume. I pushed my way through the crowd until I got close enough to hear them talking.

  “So, Dewey,” asked Biker Boy, “what do you like better? The original or the remake?”

  Dewey finished his pint of Blue Moon. He fished the orange slice out of the glass and bit into the rind. “Why choose?”

  “Yeah, well, I think I can guess. You’re dressed up like the new guy.”

  “They were both effin’ brilliant,” Dewey said.

  “Hey, you want another Moon?”

  “You, sir, are a gentleman and a scholar.” Judging by the empty glasses, Biker Boy had been buying for a while.

  Dewey patted the girl on the thigh. “How you doin’, hon?”

  “Still half a beer left.”

  “How’m I supposed to take advantage of you if you don’t hurry up and get wasted?”

  “Ask,” she said. She gave him a look. You know the one.

  I wasn’t trying to cock block Dewey, honest. It just happened to be the moment I decided to butt it. “I see you made it,” I said.

  “Hey, Frank,” Dewey said. “Pull yourself up a chair.”

  Biker Boy freaked when he saw me. “Dude! You look like someone shoved you through a plate-glass window. Awesome! You and Dewey got the costume contest on lockdown.”

  At least I could tell how Biker Boy saw me. “It’s not about winning contests,” I said. “It’s all about the love.”

  “I hear ya, brother. Must have taken you forever to do those scars.”

  “Not as long as you’d think,” I said. “Dewey, step out with me for a minute.”

  Dewey slid off the bar stool. The girl wrapped her arms around him. “You’re coming back, right?”

  “Soon as I’m done,” Dewey said, “I’m booking right back here. Maybe later we’ll go someplace private and you let me check you out.”

  She giggled when he said that. Swear to God.

  Conventiongoers packed the lobby, so Dewey and I went outside to talk.

  “Unbelievable,” I said.

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a little innocent flirting. And guilty flirting, that can be fun, too.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “Have you seen Dracula?”

  “You can forget about him. Minute he got here, he and Vlad Tepes hightailed it to An Poitin Stil. Irish pub down the road.”

  “They’re probably deep in shepherd’s pie and Guinness by now.”

  “You going after him?” Dewey asked.

  “No point.” Dracula and Vlad had crossed enemy lines and become friends. Can’t blame them for ditching the Conclave. Funny thing is, if we’d just put the two of them alone in a room, they’d come up with a fair and amiable agreement that would benefit both sides. No fighting, no need for the annual Conclave. Of course, fair and amiable was something neither side wanted.

  “What do we do?” Dewey asked.

  “Guess it’s just you and me.”

  “So Dracula gets to skip out?”

  “When you have his seniority,” I said, “we’ll see what you get away with. I have more seniority than Dracula and I still go.”

  “Yeah,” Dewey said, “but you love it.”

  “We have a duty.”

  “Yeah, well, I better get back before my bar stool or my Goth chick gets cold,” Dewey said. “I have an evening of watching you and Rasputin browbeat each other all night long to look forward to. If I’m going to get through that, I’ll need to get good and drunk.”

  “Rasputin’s not coming.”

  “Am I the only one who can’t catch a break? Who’s negotiating for the Real Monsters?”

  “They won’t say. Thinks it gives them some kind of edge, but it’s not like they’ll change their playbook.”

  “Or that we’ll change ours. The Conclave’s just a pointless circle jerk. The True Monsters lay down the law, and the Real Monsters rattle sabers. Everyone complains about shit that no one has any control over. Then we all whip out our dicks. Anyone’s grow since last year? No? Okay, see you next year.”

  “The Conclave holds the Real Monsters in check. You realize what would happen if they held influence over the Darker Places? Ever hear of the Dark Ages?”

  “That was a million years ago. We got it back, and nothing’s changed since. This year’ll be just like the others. Boring as hell.”

  “Trust me,” I said, “the last thing you want is the Conclave to get interesting.”

  I walked Dewey back to the bar. I made him promise, twice, that he’d be on time for the Conclave. I figured I’d have to go looking for him anyway. He cozied up to his chippy, and I went to my room.

  The hot shower felt wonderful. I stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around my waist. Steam fogged the large mirror, but I know what I look like, at least when others aren’t looking. People forget that in the book I’m self-taught, well read, and rather intelligent. But still, I’m an avatar. I’m whatever anyone needs me to be.

  Dewey was right, though. I do enjoy the Conclave. It gives me intellectual stimulation I don’t get anywhere else. But I also understand what’s at stake.

  I set the alarm clock for 10:45 p.m. and called the front desk for a wakeup call, just to be sure. That would give me enough time to dress and track Dewey down before midnight. I stretched out on the bed and went over my strategy for the Conclave as I drifted off to sleep. I didn’t expect any surprises, except for the one.

  Who would represent the Real Monsters at the Conclave? What were they planning?

  Dewey waited for me in the conference room, leaning back in a chair at the head of the table. “You’re late.”

  I set my briefcase on the table. “The conference doesn’t start for another ten minutes.”

  “I meant, late for you. Admit it. You were looking for me in the bar.”

  “I thought, on the slim chance your lady friend hung around, you might have gotten detained.”

  “Slim chance? Hardly. I left her sleeping in my room.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “What can I say? Horror con girls are the best. First they want to prove they’re creepier than you are, then they want to prove they’re kinkier.”

  “You can stop right there.”

  “First thing she asks me when we get to the room is, did my library have any good books on tying knots?”

  “Can we stop talking about this now? Please?”

  Dewey couldn’t stop smiling. “I love horror conventions.”

  “As do I,” said Elizabeth Bathory as she walked in. “Boys here are such easy prey.”

  Elizabeth looked as if she had just stepped out of a tub of steaming virgin blood. Sticky rivulets trickled down her indiscreet flesh. Her bare feet stained the floor where she walked. Her velvet robe, trimmed in ermine, provided little modesty and her ludicrously ample breasts threatened to fling it open at any moment.

  Elizabeth snaked an arm around Dewey’s shoulders. “But I grow tired of boys.” Her voice was unadulterated Garbo. “Perhaps you’ll show me what a True Monster can do.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said last time,” Dewey said. “Emphasis on said.”

  Elizabeth flashed a poisoned smirk. “Ah, but this year, I may feel a little more generous.”

  The Real Monsters had Dewey’s number, and sent Elizabeth to distract him. I wanted Dewey distracted as well, so, thanks guys. Although an avatar, she was also a Real Monster. The image she projected was not how anyone wished to see her but how she wished to be seen. The reasons for this made the Real Monsters both pitiable and dangerous.

  “I guess Vlad Tepes won’t be joining us,” I said to Elizabeth.


  “His love of Irish stew, I will never understand.”

  “So, who are we waiting on?”

  Elizabeth’s smile dripped honey and venom. “No one. Here comes our negotiator.”

  With a thousand guesses, I would’ve never picked Osama bin Laden. But there he was. The avatar of Osama bin Laden to be more accurate, with over a decade of hatred and fear to play off. I think I would have preferred the real one.

  Elizabeth and Dewey sat down. Bin Laden walked up to me. For a moment I thought he wanted to shake hands. “Before we begin,” he said, “I have something to say.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ve a long evening ahead of us, so I want you to understand, as they say, where I’m coming from. I don’t like you. I loathe all so-called True Monsters. I loathe what you are. I loathe what you stand for. Most important, I loathe the damage you cause. Since you can no longer inspire fear, you instead choose comedy. You have become jesters and fools and make light of the darkness. That makes you dangerous, because you steal from Humanity what it desperately needs most.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked.

  “Fear. Fear of government and police, fear of each other, fear of their own mortality. Fear makes Man noble. Without it, they would annihilate themselves. One day they will, unless I stop you. And I will. I shall drive your influence from the Darker Places until not even a memory of you remains. I just thought you should know that.”

  “All right, then,” I said, then took my place at the table.

  “What did he say?” Dewey asked.

  “I really like this guy,” I said. “He’s gonna make my job so much easier.”

  Bin Laden sat next to Elizabeth on the other side of the conference table. Elizabeth not so subtly let her robe fall open. Unimpressed, I opened my briefcase and pulled out a few file folders. “I assume everyone’s seen this year’s movie grosses.”

  “Do I look like a movie producer?” bin Laden asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Movies grosses?”

  “You know why we’re here, right?” I asked. “The Real Monsters have complained about the amount of media representation they’ve received since the Conclave started. Keeps us arguing for hours.”

  “You think I care about such foolishness? I’m sure it amused you to waste Rasputin’s time with such pointless debate. But I am not Rasputin, and you will not play the prattler with me.”

  “Fine,” I said, “if you have something else you’d rather discuss, be my guest.”

  “It surprises me,” bin Laden said, “that the Conclave has been around so long, and yet one topic has never been discussed.”

  “Which is?” I asked.

  “Halloween, of course.”

  “There’s a reason for that,” I said. “And if you don’t know, I’d suggest you find out before you get in over your head.”

  “But I do know. The True Monsters control Halloween, and we have no say in its celebration. You use Halloween to mock us. People dress up like you, or us, to make light of fear. I will not allow this to continue.”

  “What do you propose?” I asked.

  “I will accept nothing less,” said bin Laden, “than full control over Halloween.”

  “Are you nuts?” Dewey asked. Elizabeth giggled.

  “You’re sure there’s nothing else you wish to discuss?” I asked.

  “There is nothing else worth discussing.”

  I slid my folders back into the briefcase. “When do you want your answer?”

  “I will not allow this Conclave to conclude until this has been settled.”

  “Very well,” I said. “The answer is no. And thus, it seems, this year’s Conclave has concluded.” I closed my briefcase and rose from the table. “Finished in two minutes. I’m sure we’ve broken some kind of record.”

  Dewey scooted away from the table. “And the bar’s still open.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I said. “I’ll even buy the first round.”

  “Let’s go before you change your mind.”

  “Excuse me,” said bin Laden, not rising from his chair. “Where do you think you’re going? Did you not hear what I said? The Conclave isn’t over, not while the issue of Halloween is still on the table.”

  “The hell did you say?” Dewey asked.

  “I heard him,” said Elizabeth. “Didn’t you?”

  “See, that’s the thing,” I said. “Halloween isn’t on the table. It’s damned well off the table, and that’s where it’ll stay.”

  “Afraid?” asked Bin Laden. “You should be. Without Halloween, the True Monsters are nothing. Less than nothing. Can you imagine, do you dare imagine, what would happen if Halloween were no longer yours?”

  “I guess we’ll never know,” I said.

  “Pardon me.” Bin Laden pulled a cell phone from his robes. He had it on vibrate and it buzzed until he answered it. “Yes? Ah, good. Can you have someone bring them to the conference room? Thank you.” Bin Laden hung up the phone. “Mr. Higginbotham will be here in a few minutes. I’ve petitioned the Holiday Committee to assume authority over Halloween. They agreed to hear my petition and make a summary judgment. You may want to stay for this.”

  “Are you insane?” I asked.

  “All these Conclaves, and never once have you pressed your advantage. You have contented yourself to maintain a balance of authority. A move as bold as this never once occurred to you. That is the power of fear. The moment you stopped being an instrument of fear and fell under its shadow, you were mine from the moment I chose to destroy you.”

  “Benji,” Dewey said, “you just made the biggest damned mistake of your life.”

  “Shut up, Dewey,” I said. “I have to think.”

  “Come on. We’re not going to lose Halloween. It’s the second biggest holiday in the United States, thanks to us.”

  “Then why is the Holiday Committee here?”

  Mr. Higginbotham entered the room with a small mob of accountants, corporate lawyers, and other sundry administrative personnel. They covered the entire table with ledgers, files, charts, and record books. More chairs were brought in. Everyone sat except for the four of us; there were no places left.

  I saw a look of absolute dread on Dewey’s face. It was well justified.

  Bin Laden and Elizabeth met Mr. Higginbotham at the head of the table.

  “Thank you for taking the time to see us,” bin Laden said.

  “If there is anything I can do for you,” Elizabeth said, “please, let me know.” She was, of course, leaning over the table.

  “You seem to be missing some of your clothes,” Mr. Higginbotham said.

  “Oh my, but you’re right. What should I do?”

  “Find them.”

  “My dear,” bin Laden said, “let me handle this, please.” Elizabeth pouted off.

  “Mr. Higginbotham,” I said, “I apologize that you came all this way to contend with an issue that shouldn’t be an issue in the first place. However, I’m not sure I’m qualified to speak for the True Monsters in a matter of this importance and humbly request forbearance until such time as it can be determined who should represent the True Monsters in this matter.”

  “The True Monsters believed him a proper representative for our Conclave,” bin Laden said. “However, if he considers himself unqualified to attend, he should certainly leave.”

  “This meeting has been called as a courtesy,” said Mr. Higginbotham. “We are prepared to resolve this issue without hearing from either side. If you do not wish to participate, the True Monsters can still appeal our decision at a later date via the regular channels. The choice is yours.”

  “Then I shall speak for the True Monsters,” I said.

  “Proceed,” said Mr. Higginbotham.

  “I must profess a measure of surprise at these proceedings. Never would I have imagined the True Monsters’ dedication and service to Halloween would come into question. Halloween has thrived under our guidance. Its observance bleed-through
is second only to Christmas. The entire month of October belongs to Halloween. It is a holiday beloved by young and old alike, because of our diligence.”

  “Then you would say you’re satisfied with Halloween?” asked Mr. Higginbotham.

  I saw the trap set in those words, a trap bin Laden hoped I would spring. I weighed my answer carefully. “Whatever more the Holiday Commission would wish us to do, we would, gladly.”

  “And that,” bin Laden said, “is my point. True, Halloween is highly regarded and enjoys the privileges of other holidays, except for one: it is not nationally observed. Perhaps Mr. Frankenstein feels a day off from work or school is of little consequence, or perhaps he is sincere when he says the True Monsters were mindless of their duties. However, it is obvious that if they had the ability to make Halloween an observed holiday, they would certainly have done so by now.”

  “If Mr. bin Laden wishes to imply the Real Monsters could serve Halloween better,” I said, “I assure you this is not the case. Halloween would lose everything it has gained. One need only look at their attempt at an unauthorized holiday in Detroit to see what they would do with Halloween.”

  “It was never proven we had anything to do with Devil’s Night,” said bin Laden.

  “I suggest you limit your remarks to facts,” Mr. Higginbotham said, “and refrain from speculation.”

  “Thank you,” said bin Laden. “Mr. Frankenstein could undoubtedly keep you here all evening with speculations on what we might do with Halloween. I need no speculation to show exactly what the True Monsters will do. They mean to keep the status quo. Mr. Frankenstein has threatened as much, this very evening. I do not deny the growth Halloween has experienced, but the True Monsters have brought Halloween as far as they can. It is time for new leadership to take Halloween to new heights.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” Mr. Higginbotham said. “Please step outside, and we will let you know our decision shortly.”

  In the hallway, I could barely contain my rage. “Everything you said in that room was a lie! You don’t give a damn about Halloween. You think turning it into a night of terror will do anything but destroy it? There won’t be anything left of Halloween, and it will be your fault.”