Fat Vampire Value Meal (Books 1-4 in the series) (14 page)

“We could run, too.”
 

“You can’t outrun vampires.” That was another thing he’d seen while studying his foes’ records. Humans targeted by the Vampire Nation never survived. Never.
 

“I could turn. I’m ready. Maurice could do it. Or you could.”

“I’m going to make it worse by turning you?” He shook his head. “No way. There’s no way out. And even if there was, there’s all the other people I know. My family. My neighbors and
their
families.”

“You could find a way to…”
 

Reginald interrupted her. “And Claire.”
 

Nikki slowly closed her mouth. Then she said, “Yeah. And Claire.”
 

“But honestly, I’m worried about Claire anyway. The Council is sadistic. The stuff I’ve watched and read? They don’t like to leave loose ends. If anyone knows I’ve been hanging out with her, which they almost certainly do, I’ll find out at the trial. It’ll be a nice little surprise before I die. ‘Oh, hey, just so you know, we know all about your friend, and we’re headed out there now to suck her dry.’ They do stuff like that all the time from what I’ve seen.”
 

“Maurice can protect her.”
 

“Maurice will be with me. Hell, they might just kill him too. He’s already said he’s on thin ice. That’d be a cool twist, right? Your night shifts might be a lot quieter next week.”
 

Reginald didn’t like the way he sounded, but he couldn’t help himself. Because the Council’s biggest concern was being overthrown by a rising power-seeker, it ruled through fear. The trials Reginald had reviewed were absolutely filled with psychological torture. It made him angry, but there was nothing he could do except to take it out on Nikki, who was the only outlet he had.
 

“Me, then,” she said.
 

“What
about
you?”
 

“I’ll protect her.”
 

“Nikki…”
 

“After you turn me, of course.”
 

Reginald raised both of his hands in a warding-off gesture.
 

“Look,” she said, “I’m already cleared. I even got an approval letter. I’ve got a formal ceremony coming up in a month, but if they do decide to kill Maurice, then it all falls apart because he’s my mentor. I’d have to start all over. This is just moving things up a little. And this way, when you and Maurice go in, I can watch the fort here for you.”
 

Reginald tapped a finger on the table.
 

“Come on, Reginald. Think it through in that big, enhanced brain of yours. What other choice is there?”
 

He knew the answer, of course:
None
. He’d probably doomed Claire the moment he met her, but he’d almost certainly sealed her fate this week.
Of course
vampires would be watching him in the week before his trial, and of course he’d never have noticed them. Claire couldn’t protect herself and she couldn’t run. The chances of vampire Nikki protecting her were still incredibly slim, but slim was better than none. Reginald knew how to turn her, too. It was one of many, many things he’d learned over the past few nights about vampirism and vampire culture in his futile search for a way out.

“Are you thinking about it?” she asked him.
 

“Yes.”
 

“Will you do it?”
 

He exhaled and began nodding slowly, his big, enhanced brain working through scenario after scenario after scenario.
 

“Okay,” he said. “But I want to do one thing a little differently.”

And he told her.

M
ORE
A
SSHOLES

ON THE NIGHT OF THE meeting — which in Reginald’s mind had definitely become a “trial” — Maurice came over to Reginald’s house and the two sat on Reginald’s run-down, bent-in-the-middle couch and watched
America’s Funniest Videos
until a knock came at the door.
 

“Let’s not let them in,” said Reginald, suddenly nervous.
 

“This is no longer a human house,” said Maurice with a wry smile. “You can’t keep them out if they want to come in.”
 

“Oh. Okay.”
 

So he got up, and he walked to the door and opened it. Standing on the stoop under the porch light were Charles, Moira, and Penelope — the three remaining of the foursome he’d met a thousand years ago, back when he was human.
 

“Hello big boy,” said Charles, his eyes full of something Reginald couldn’t interpret. “As a duly appointed representative of the Vampire Nation, I, Charles Barkley, bring with me a warrant requiring your presence at…”
 

“Your name is Charles Barkley?” said Reginald.
 

Charles ignored him and continued speaking. “… at a meeting of the Vampire Council…”
 

“Because in your shoes, I’d go by ‘Chuck,’ or ‘Charlie.’”
 

“… to determine your suitability for inclusion in the population of…”
 

“Or, you know, just never use your last name.”
 

Charles ceased his delivery and locked eyes with Reginald. “Joke now,” he said.
 

“I’m just saying,” said Reginald, who hadn’t been joking. He’d once known a man named Ronald Reagan. The man was so liberal, he was left-handed. Reginald had always meant to ask why he didn’t just go by ‘Ron,’ but had never had the nerve.

Charles turned to Maurice. “And
you
. Do you have a death wish? As his maker, you’ve now committed your third act of treason in a month. Nobody cares how old you are or what rights you seem to think you have, Maurice. You can be staked by the Guard just like anyone else.”
 

“I stand by my creation,” said Maurice, with a glance toward Reginald. Then he added, “… and my right to make as I choose.”

The women had broken away from Charles and, as they’d done on the night behind the bowling alley, began circling Reginald. Their voices came from behind him, near his ears. Now that he was no longer human, their voices were no longer hypnotic, but they were still a turn on.

“You tasted amazing,” said Moira.
 

“Delirious,” said Penelope.
 

“And now?” said Moira.
 

“Such a pity,” said Penelope.
 

Reginald whispered to Maurice. “Why did
they
like me so much, yet I made you barf?”
 

“Why do so many people like McDonald’s, yet the grease would make a healthy person keel over?” Maurice answered.

The women came full circle and stood in front of them, one on each side of Charles. All three looked like they could appear in a magazine photoshoot right then, without going to hair, makeup, or wardrobe. Reginald, not even a little bit gay, found even Charles beautiful.
 

“Quite a pity,” Charles agreed, looking Reginald over from head to toe. “A beautiful cut of meat wasted… and a race blemished.”
 

Maurice’s hand went to his sword.
 

“Easy, Maurice. You won’t get away with staking me like you did Isaac. I’m on orders from the Guard. You’d burn for it.”
 

Maurice’s hand lowered.
 

“If only you’d come with us when we came for you the first time instead of making your little scene,” said Charles with phony regret. “Just think — all of this could’ve been avoided.”

Maurice stared at Charles, his eyes unblinking.

“So,” said Charles. “Will you come with us? Or would you like me to leave without you and put your apprehension in the hands of the Guard?”
 

“I hope they want to tussle first,” Moira whispered to Penelope.

Penelope rubbed her breasts. Her fangs snapped out, and she ran her tongue over them. “Me too,” she purred.

“We’ll come with you,” said Maurice.

Penelope’s fangs receded and a pout formed on her lips. “Oh, poo,” she said.
 

T
ESTED

“WE’RE GOING TO MISS OUR window,” said Charles from behind the wheel of the SUV.

Reginald and Maurice were in the rear row of seats, behind Penelope and Moira, behind a silver mesh, restrained by silver handcuffs. Charles wasn’t speaking to them, but Reginald knew exactly what he was talking about. In the past week, he’d researched and learned more about the Vampire Council — which shared its protocols openly so that any power-seekers would fully understand the futility of an attack — than he imagined Charles would ever know.
 

For one, the Council kept its location top secret, even from itself. The entire Council worked like a touring mega-concert, with hundreds of vampire roadies tasked with disassembling, transporting, and reassembling the entire operation every eight, nine, or ten days. The location, specific timing, and coordination of these movements were determined by an incredibly complicated encrypted algorithm. The algorithm was a total black box. The council could request a move, but could not control or predict that move. The only way for Council members to see where the Council would go next was to follow the instructions given by the algorithm and wait until all of the pieces fell into place.

Every eight, nine, or ten days, the algorithm would deliver new sets of orders to the roadies. The algorithm coordinated their travel — via discreet and different paths — to their final location. Dozens of individual surveyors were constantly feeding updated information into the database regarding the suitability of locations, weather and population updates, purchases and sales of real estate, and anything else that might be relevant, and the algorithm drew from all of it. On any given move, the Council might repurpose an abandoned structure, re-use a past location, or build something fresh. The whole production was like a colony of ants obeying orders made by an unseen intelligence.

The only way for anyone to get in or out was to pass through a series of hand-offs involving several pairs of escorts. Because the Council was a moving target, the algorithm coordinated this entire process as well. It was impossible to predict where someone on their way to the Council might be at any given time or what route they might take. Even the escorts didn’t know where they were taking their passengers until they were on the road, and theirs was only one leg of a larger route comprising several legs.
 

Charles was worried because when you were summoned by the Council, the algorithm gave you only a location and a half-hour window of time. If you missed the window, you missed your chance — and then, usually, you paid a price.
 

Charles had three minutes left.

“It would be so much faster to run,” said Charles, “if only I had a secure way to carry that fat load.”
 

“And me,” said Maurice. “Don’t forget the fact that I’d tear your head off the minute we got out.”
 

“You’d never escape,” said Charles, taking another glance at the dashboard clock.
 

“I didn’t say anything about escaping,” said Maurice. “After I killed you, I’d be sure to make the window. “ He would, too. Maurice could argue that he’d had to kill Charles because Charles was going to make him late for his pickup. The Council would accept it as a justified tradeoff.

Charles pulled up to the pickup point, which turned out to be under a bridge downtown, with thirty seconds to spare. One of the waiting Guards was actually looking at his watch as they pulled up and piled out of the SUV, Maurice and Reginald held between the others.
 

“You’re almost late,” said one of the Guards.
 

“We call that ‘on time’ around here,” said Maurice.
 

The Guard punched Maurice hard in the face.

The other Guard looked at Charles and the women. “
You’re
supposed to come along,” he said, indicating Charles. Then he waved at the women. “They’re not.”
 

The women pouted, purred a goodbye to Reginald, and drove away in the SUV. When they were gone, the Guards put Reginald, Maurice, and Charles into the back of their vehicle, which was also an SUV. There were no windows in the back compartment. All were bound in silver handcuffs and blindfolded twice so that when the doors were opened at subsequent checkpoints, they wouldn’t be able to see where they were.
 

“So where is the Council today?” Maurice asked a Guard as he was preparing to close the door. “I’ll bet it’s a drive-in. Is it a drive-in?”
 

There was a thick slugging sound that Reginald assumed was the Guard punching him again.
 

“Never hurts to ask,” said Maurice from somewhere in the darkness once the door had closed. “Well, other than literally.”
 

The SUV drove off, leaving the remains of Reginald’s human life behind. He wondered if he’d ever see his house again — and if not, whether his plants would die before someone realized he was missing.

After three transfers to different vehicles, they were offloaded, grabbed by the arms, and told to walk. They proceeded through what seemed to be a long, echo-filled corridor, walked down some stairs, and then traversed another long and winding path somewhere with less echo. There was a flurry of pushing and shoving and clanking, and then Reginald’s blindfolds and restraints were removed.
 

He found himself in a stark, white room with absolutely no decorations or furniture. There were no features on any of the surfaces. The walls were as smooth as glass. The effect was disorienting. If he looked back, right, left, down, or up, he saw the exact same thing. The only feature by which he could orient himself was a set of bars and a cell door, all made of silver.
 

On the other side of the cell door was Maurice, who was cuffed and bookended by two Guards, but who didn’t seem to be bound for a cell.

“This is so futuristic. It’s like the ultimate in minimalism,” said Reginald.