The Vampires Of Livix Twin Pack (Volumes #1 & #2)

by Smith, J Gordon

  “Sure. I’m glad I remembered.”

  “I’m calling about a patent that our client, Vermilion Genomics, has with the law firm. I thought it odd seeing the Bank of Draydon listed on the paperwork. It gave me a good excuse to call you,” I grinned on my side of the line.

  “The Bank has helped them out. Other than seeing some lousy financial summaries at our quarterly report-outs, which is not surprising given that business, I haven’t followed them too closely. Our specialists with training in Biology, Genetics, and Chemistry remain involved. They are probably too involved for a bank, but it’s an advanced research program with military applications – so not the broad commercial safety net that something like a cancer or a sexual dysfunction drug has in a consumer market. Is there a problem or something I can get back to them?”

  “Oh, no, thought I might call you.” I idly turned my chair around stretching the handset cord around myself and the chair. “– and realized I hadn’t given you my phone number. In case a patent issue needed discussing, you know.”

  “Is it this phone number you called on?”

  “No. This is my shared office phone.”

  I gave him my cell number while I unraveled myself from the phone cord. I heard him tapping the number into his phone and he said, “Hey, I have to go. I’m glad you called. I wasn’t sure how you’d be after the storm last night.”

  “I’m all right. And thanks about the parking meter.”

  “Sure. Bye.”

  I scanned the waiting room after returning the phone to its cradle. I felt a little goofy. Maybe I shouldn’t have called.

  Marilyn interrupted my self-absorption, “Smooth. Met a new boy?” She stood in the doorway.

  “Yes. We met at the coffee shop a few weeks ago. He works at the bank financing Vermilion.”

  Marilyn looked over the top of her reading glasses, “Is he cute?”

  “Yes.” I grinned.

  -:- Five -:-

  I sat sideways on the couch in my apartment. My feet rested on the middle cushion with my toes curled into a blanket while pillows spilled in a tumble behind my back. I read my latest graphic novel. The sun smeared golden warm hues across the wall. I think that’s why I got distracted from my reading. Comfortable and a little drowsy from the heat. It could be better if I had a little bowl of salty chips on the floor. I imagined my hand casually reaching in and retrieving a piece or two at a time. I pined for them. Caramel kept invading that snacking corner of my mind. Like caramel apples with peanut bits. I’d have to research if any salty caramel potato chips existed. Perhaps improve them with a gooey chocolate drizzle. Hmmmm.

  I turned another page.

  My phone rang. I reached over my head and retrieved it from the side table.

  “Hi.” I set my graphic novel on the floor where I might have put those chips.

  “It’s me. I wanted to see what you scheduled for Saturday?”

  “It’s pretty open.” My mom wanted me to visit but I didn’t really want to drive out there. My phone call would be easier with a real excuse.

  He asked, “I thought we could go to the Victorian Festival.”

  “Sure, that sounds like fun.” Traffic gets crazy around town so I usually avoided it but with a date the prospect became much more interesting.

  “Do you have any costumes?”

  I smiled remembering, “I was a kid the last time I went dressed up. The little old women pelted us with candy. So too long ago to have a costume still.” I mentally ran through my clothing inventory in my head including the pieces I either borrowed from my Mom or she gave me because she had tired of them. “I think I have a skirt and a top I can convert.” I’ll need some magic. I might have a scarf I could use as a shawl. “Yeah, I can probably do it. Pick me up in the morning?”

  “How about ten thirty?”

  “That’s good. See you then.”

  I opened my closet. Well … I pushed the door open a little wider. It rattled on the slider track. My secret area of disorganization spewed toward me. Everyone forgives my closet since they have a similar secret cavern of disarray in their own bedroom. I rummaged around. I found a pair of long heeled boots in the back and tossed them out by the bed. Across the bed I laid a black full length skirt with folds suggesting something old. Hopefully it looked older than the nineteen seventies or eighties. I found a few scarves I could wind around my hips under the top of the skirt to make it flair out along with a nightgown and a slip suggesting petticoats. An antique-white blouse with heavily tooled stitching and crocheted lace seemed to work as a top.

  I played with my hair in the mirror. I swept it up and down. I twisted it and put in a quick loose braid to see how it might look if I went to that trouble. I tried combs and pins and spinning it using chop-sticks to hold through it and wondered if a French braid might be good. I’d need help with that and not authentic either. I poked in my jewelry box and nothing inspiring revealed itself. But a basic plan formed and something could pop into my subconscious overnight. I scrubbed my fingers through my hair removing the biggest snarls for morning.

  I slipped under the cool bed sheets and pulled a pillow close with a book for my Friday night. But I didn’t mind as I later fell asleep looking forward to tomorrow.

  -:- Six -:-

  I stood in front of my large living room window watching the street. A weekend morning television show churned in flashes of colors and sound in the background. The show spent more time on their flashy logo screen wipes and “stay tuned this up next” self advertising than they actually did with the real stories. They finally allowed their guest to talk up their fabulous part in a fantastic new movie to fulfill their role in the movie’s PR program ahead of a nationwide launch next week.

  Garin’s car stopped by the curb and he stepped out. I hit the power button on the television remote and grabbed my things. He wore black shoes, charcoal knickers with cream socks and suspenders that stretched tight over his slightly ballooning cream shirt and a black racing hat. His hair seemed curly and shined with some sort of hair gel that I could see out of the sides of the hat. He looked authentic leaning against the passenger fender while he retrieved his non-period cell phone.

  I had already exited my apartment door and took to the building’s stairs when my phone rang. I let it ring in my little purse as I pushed open the building entrance to meet him on the walk. “I’m not getting the phone because I made my purse with some odds and ends of lace and handkerchiefs and ribbon and it’s knotted together.” I transformed it into a fancy pouch purse I saw pictured somewhere, maybe a Steam-punk magazine at my friend Bethany’s.

  He canceled his call and my phone stopped ringing. He tipped his hat, “You look nice.” Curls and waves in his hair looked styled like an old photograph.

  “These old things?” I twirled like a little girl and giggled.

  “Do you have a hat?”

  “No.” I rolled my hair up in a tight bun and put a black web scrunchy around it with a pair of long hairpins.

  “Milady, you’ll catch the heat exhaustion without a hat.” he clicked his heals and tipped his head.

  “I had nothing that goes with the rest of this.”

  “Come, come milady,” he popped the trunk and pulled out several wide Victorian style hats that had lain carefully flat on the clean carpet. “I retrieved these from storage.”

  “You must really get into the festival to put it in long-term storage.”

  “No, we have some authentic vintage pieces. You know.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

  “Certain members of the family love reliving the old days in old clothes. You should see the 1960’s closet. The 1950’s has some dresses worn in movies or by a few movie stars for awards shows. My mother collected such things for a while. Though the 1970’s clothes are strangely absent for some reason.”

  “You’ll have to invite me over to play dress up.”

  “My mother would like that.” He held the hats out to me, “Which hat for you?” />
  “The black one matches the best.” I admired our reflections mirrored in the car window. His reflection showed as clear as mine – so much for the vampires and mirrors legend.

  He leaned in, “There’s a rumor that three vampires originally founded Livix and that’s why we celebrate a Victorian Festival.”

  “Oh my, such gossip! Rhett – you devil,” I did my best Scarlet imitation, snapping open my fancy folding Japanese fan and brushing my fluttering eyes with a light breeze while I curled a sly smile at him.

  “But that’s not all.”

  “What do you mean?” The morning sun warmed everything enough I saw the wisdom in the offered hat becoming as practical as stylish.

  “Would you like to wear some authentic vintage pearls?”

  “Yes.” My hand fell to my chest like a proper woman, “That would go well.”

  He opened an old leather folder lined with aged silk that clung to the leather with delicate stitching. He removed an antique strand of matched pearls with a small cross at the clasp. “They’re a little lumpy since these are natural pearls from before pearl culturing. Matching a strand this long and overall uniform color and size took time.”

  “These are pretty old then.” I cautiously reached a single finger out to touch them gently, when I realized how I must look stroking the pearls like a kitten, I stopped.

  “A gift from a friend to one of my ancestor’s years ago. But no one ever wore them. Not sure why. Surprising it lasted this long.”

  “Why surprising? These are nice and if mine they would get worn for special occasions,” not for a casual festival.

  “The old days didn’t have the systems and culture we do to survive without feeding.” He leaned closer and brought his eyes up to mine, “Necks and necklaces are delicate in a vampire’s hungry embrace.”

  I paused, “So you’re telling me by putting this on that you’ll behave?”

  “Yes. Heirlooms old and new to protect.”

  He fastened it on. His hand brushed the sides of my neck and a tingle radiated around my thoughts and up and down my spine. My eyes closed as I sunk into the feeling. I bit my lip.

  When he finished straightening the necklace I opened my eyes and looked in the car glass, “I like the ensemble,” in spite of the fun-house reflection caused by the curve of the window.

  Garin took out his phone and set the camera mode. He snapped a few pictures of me. Close ups and ones farther away.

  “This is like prom.” I said between picture smiles.

  “I suppose so.” He moved for a different angle. Keeping in character he spun his hat around and had his tongue out while he took a few more candid pictures.

  “Now you’re being goofy!”

  He laughed as the phone continued making fake camera shutter sounds.

  Mrs. Radish, a middle-aged neighbor in the building, came out and stood by the building entry door, “Don’t you two look like the perfect couple!” she waved her hand in a white lace glove for us to come nearer, “Here let me take your picture.”

  Garin said, “Aim like so and press on the screen like this.”

  “What a snazzy little phone,” she said.

  We stood by the tree and black wrought iron fence next to the building. I never thought about it before but the building might be old enough. The years had seen some modernization that hid the old Victorian features well. We marveled at the pictures and said goodbye to Mrs. Radish. The drive downtown slowed. The whole town liked to come to these events. We finally found a parking structure but went around and around until we squeezed into the last remaining spaces on the parking structure roof. People everywhere displayed interesting and fun outfits. Kids and adults rode modern mountain bikes who didn’t fancy parking a car as well as some of those big-wheel bikes ridden by guys with handle bar mustaches. I saw a lot of men with hats.

  “Why do you think no one wears a hat anymore?” I asked Garin, watching an elderly couple making their way over the park lawn.

  “Fashion industry. More money in selling hair care products and haircuts and such than ever in the haberdashery business. Now you have a whole pharmaceutical anti-baldness industry trying to grow –” I nudged him for that. “– while hats keep trying to return but never get to mainstream.”

  “I like your hair products conspiracy.” I said.

  He said, “I’m hoping the frilly powdered wigs and coats festooned with a hundred buttons come back. That will be cool.”

  “I’m not sure I’d like my men in tights and knickers,” I laughed. Garin looked down at his pants and socks not far from the seventeen hundreds style and laughed too.

  We wandered aimlessly doing a little window shopping. Clever little trinkets are always on display in the stores here. I sipped lemonade I purchased from the candy store. We walked back to the town square when it appeared time for the parade kick off. Garin and I came along with the other people compressing together. We stood under the moody oak tree hunched over the end of the town square. The tree sprouted several hundred years in the middle of grasslands before the founding of the town. I hadn’t yet heard the rumors that some of its branches hung convicts during the wild frontier that the Victorian times hearkened back to – explaining why we had a little more space to stand under the tree than other areas of the square.

  The Mayor engulfed the small podium on the temporary stage at the opposite end of the square. A large man in both height and girth and comically cliché for his occupation. He carried his weight well however. He worked out incessantly at the gym in a deathly struggle against the occupational hazard of lunches and dinners with the important and well-funded. He pulled out a pocket watch the size of a dinner plate from his widely striped vest and held it up, “It’s Time!” The crowd clapped and cheered.

  “Welcome everyone to our 115th year of the Victorian Festival!” He said in his giant showman voice holding the glittery watch in one hand and waved his tall stovepipe hat in the other.

  The crowd cheered.

  He balanced his hat on his head, “The town continues to grow rapidly with industry and jobs – in spite of the global recession. We like to think our town government is partly to blame for the success we’ve had.” Like a good comedian, he paused and scanned the audience to see if any caught the joke. He raised an eyebrow. Nothing.

  “Before I forget, my building department asked me to remind everyone as you continue home and business improvement projects this summer be sure and sign in with the building department. Pleasant and helpful. We’ve tried to get out of the dark ages and work with you in partnership. My part, for me personally, is that it’s not about the petty ‘revenue’ or darkness of ‘taxes’. We greatly understand our obligation to cut costs and increase services. We’ve been striving for that goal.

  “I’m introducing Gordon from Velocity Motive Consulting. He’s been working with our government offices applying Lean Manufacturing techniques to the processes and methods we use. He’s using knowledge that he honed in manufacturing plants around the globe and it works! You can go to our town’s website and see as many arts and charts you care to on how he’s been helping us cut the need for taxes.”

  Gordon stood and tipped his hat to the crowd. Ribbons fluttered in the wind and medals sparkled on the front panels of his long coat as he sat back down.

  The Mayor turned, “We have the same number of office and field workers but we are handling three times the workload we did two years ago.” he leaned forward, almost crushing the little podium, “See I told you this town is growing. And my office and field workers find it’s easier to get the job done right and ahead of schedule without the red tape and delay our old methods caused.”

  Approving whistles issued from the Mayor’s office staff on the podium.

  Garin whispered to me, “This is good. We’ve used Velocity Motive teams at some of our struggling plants we invested in. Those are making money now. A lot of money. They have a knack. They say they Fast Forward Your Business(TM) and they do.”
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  The Mayor’s voice boomed, “So we’ll be refunding your taxes this year –” he crashed his hands like drums on the podium, ba-dum-bum! “– Ok, we’re not doing that but we ARE cutting them. Significantly. And no waiting for the State of Michigan assessments to roll through and slim it down through future years. We are doing this now – you’ll see the reductions in your summer tax bills getting mailed this next week.”

  The crowd cheered.

  “That’s what I like!” He beamed in his famous elect-me smile, “The other part of the money saved we are putting into some school projects since they keep you rooted here, property values up, and that maintains a growing and strong workforce which encourages more companies to locate in our town. More growth for our downtown retailers. A virtuous cycle. With that money we are also sending the same consulting teams that worked with us to – let’s face it –” he leaned forward on the podium, “for a lot of reasons our education system hasn’t changed much in fifty years. I’ve challenged our Board of Education,” he nodded to the other people sitting on the stage, “that we’re expecting to get more done, with the existing people, easier, than ever before. We’re already seeing student test scores rise.”

  The crowd cheered although not as loud as for the taxes statement.

  “Now here is Dr. Theron Aravant, Chief Executive Officer of The Bank of Draydon, to say a few nice words. Oh, and before I forget, remember me on Election Day next year!” The Mayor gave an exaggerated wink, his big politician smile, and an artful arm flourish with his tall hat to the next speaker.

  Dr. Aravant stood and approached the podium. His dark wool three-piece suit fit him with perfect tailoring, his head topped with a matching bowler hat. Sharply groomed black hair streaked with white swept back under the hat. Dressed like a Victorian Banker he put his hands on the podium like a professor. A vivid blue thin tie sparkled in the sunlight as the only color about his body.

  “Thank you, Mayor,” he spoke with a studious European accent, “I don’t have such wonderful news as giving tax money back. But I have a similar theme in my talk. Everyone here likely has friends or family in towns around Detroit or other parts of the country affected by this recession precipitated by the housing crisis. And no …” a grim pause of his lips, “The Bank of Draydon did not participate in that foolishness of the other banks. We mark our age in centuries. We tend toward stodgy since we originally came out of England and Central Europe before the founding of Livix but that conservatism kept us from writing bad loans. We’ve assisted companies and homeowners caught in tough binds with other banks to right their rafts.”