by Jim McDoniel
The night it did began with Amanda attempting to push Simon into the bath.
“You are ruining my experiment,” he pleaded, trying to keep his sister from stripping him down. “I am testing the benefits of cleanliness versus natural odors and how they pertain to an undetectable approach upon the undead.”
“Well, the results are in, and they say that if the living can smell you, you stink too much,” she said, managing to wrangle his shirt from him.
“Ah, but the human nose and the immortal nose are attuned differently,” he argued. “People smell stink, whereas a monster is more likely to smell soap and perfume.”
“I’m pretty sure they smell both,” she replied, grabbing one pant leg.
“Pretty sure is not certain,” challenged Simon. He was now hopping up and down, trying to keep his other leg out of her grasp. “This is why experimentation is needed.”
“Look, Simon,” she said, finally buckling, “if you take a bath, I will let you take your Houdini kit in with you.” This stopped him hopping.
“Even the straitjacket?” he asked cautiously.
“Even the straitjacket,” she agreed.
“And you won’t leave it loose, like you normally do? You’ll make it nice and tight.”
“There will be no way you could possibly escape,” she assured him.
“Very well,” he replied and finished taking his clothes off. Amanda went and retrieved the straitjacket from his room. She had never really been sure how he’d managed to get his hands on it, but decided to treat its appearance like she did most things having to do with Simon—with silence. After putting the thing on him and chaining his feet and chest below the water, Amanda stood over the bathtub, ready to cover it with a wooden lid.
“Remember to leave the stopwatch on the sink,” Simon instructed.
“Wash your hair when you get your hands free,” she told him. His head was halfway in the water, which she was sure he would use as an excuse later for having “not heard her.” She placed the cover over him and hit the timer as she left the bathroom, her war won.
Unfortunately, the war, like most, had taken longer than the combatants had thought it would, and she was now running late. Going into panic mode, she began undressing in the middle of the hallway. She was doing her best imitation of Simon’s earlier hopping when the doorbell rang through the house, after which Amanda’s profanity rang through the house. She tore down the stairs, nearly falling, and only just remembered to put on her scrub shirt before opening the door and immediately wishing she hadn’t.
Deep brown eyes stared at her from the other side. Sad-but-wholesome deep brown eyes, which bore into Amanda and caressed her soul. Deep brown eyes whose every answer would be “you.” A strong nose divided the eyes into perfectly symmetrical halves. Above a strong, stubbled chin, a soft, tender mouth formed a mournful smile that Amanda wanted to comfort with soft, loving kisses. All of this was framed by perfect shoulder-length brown hair.
A cold wind blew across the owner of the deep brown eyes, sweeping his hair across his face and his long black coat across his body. His body! Amanda hadn’t even made it past his head. A black button-down shirt hugged his ample muscular chest. The pants were black and long and not particularly tight, but Amanda had seen enough on TV to give her a fairly decent idea of what lay beneath, and what she hadn’t already seen, she could imagine. Oh, how she could imagine.
Amanda couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even respond to the urge to tear her clothes off. She was frozen in place with both the door and her mouth gaping open stupidly.
“Hi.” Words, blessed words emerged from the lovely, sad mouth. “Amanda, right?”
Amanda nodded. In a deep part of her brain, she realized she should say something and so muttered, “Ph-Phantom.” Before she could stop herself, she reached out and poked him to make sure he was real.
“I’m not really a ghost; I just play one on TV,” he quipped, taking the extremely awkward moment in stride. “Hey, you post on the fan site, right?”
Amanda’s eyes went wide. If he’d actually read what she’d posted . . . everything she’d posted, the fan fic and everything . . . Suddenly, Amanda wished her arms had the strength to close the door.
Phantom, unsure of what this silence meant, continued. “You are PhaNora4EVR640, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes,” answered Amanda, realizing he actually expected her to respond.
“Wow,” he said. “It is really great to meet you. The writers have said your posts are some of the most trusted and constructive they’ve ever read. Didn’t you, guys?”
Phantom said this last over his shoulder. He moved to the side, and for the first time, Amanda saw that Phantom was not alone. Reclining against a limo were others. A man and woman waved in response to what Phantom had said. Amanda would have assumed these unfamiliar faces were the writers—would have, except her eyes had already found the others: Berwyn, Phantom’s main rival for the affection of Sasha and a rebel-without-a-cause stud muffin of the first order; Cassan, the strong, silent leader of the coven, with a tragic history as an African slave; Victoria, Cassan’s wife, whose full, supple body was much touted as a return of curves to the airwaves; Lord Dunstan, the villain from the third season, who had been summarily defeated so that he could turn good in the fourth; The Gorgon, this season’s Big Bad, who had kidnapped Sasha, convinced Phantom she had left him forever, and was sleeping with the person to his right, the person who, other than Phantom, Amanda was most excited to see—Nora, the strong, smart blond vampiress who served as the group’s enforcer. The one Phantom truly belonged with, because she was a real woman—she owned her sexuality and refused to be beat out by a man.
Nora was right there. The main cast was right there. All except Sasha, and really, who needed her? The tramp.
“Anyway,” began Phantom, likely judging that he had given her long enough to let their presence sink in, “we were just in the neighborhood, tossing around story ideas, and I said, ‘Hey, you know who we should talk to as long as we’re here? Amanda Linske.’”
Amanda’s brain should have been screaming warnings. It should have been asking itself what the hell a bunch of TV stars were doing riding a limo through Shepherd’s Crook. It should have been asking how he was able to get her full name and address from a secure forum account. But her brain was currently mush, and so she just stared dreamily at him.
Phantom started to look a little impatient. “So, we stopped to talk to you, Amanda. Do you think we could maybe come in?”
Amanda’s eyes went even wider, now with terror. How could she be so stupid? She hadn’t invited them in. And they needed an invitation, didn’t they? Oh, Phantom probably thought she was rude now. She really hoped Phantom didn’t think she was rude. But he probably did. She wished she could have asked him, but she knew he would lie like the gentleman he was. And he was.
Phantom waited on the doorstep until the whirlwind of thoughts in Amanda’s head came back around to what he had asked. Finally she said, “Yes, of course. Come right in.”
Behind her, there was an explosion of glass. She tried to scream, but Phantom was crushing her throat.
• •
Yulric was slightly aware that Amanda had been standing at the door for an inappropriate length of time. He was also aware of the smell of hair spray, cologne, and large amounts of makeup wafting in from outside. Yulric’s brain should have been able to put together that only those club vampires operated at that level of grooming, but currently, the vampire was too busy searching for hidden messages within every fifth episode of Dark Shadows using the so-called vampire language from a role-playing game as a cipher key. And so Yulric paid these facts no mind.
That is, until the room exploded.
Glass flew through the air as four massive objects crashed through the windows around him. Yulric tried to dismiss this as more mortal nonsense meant to distract him, but his self-preservation sense was telling him that massive objec
ts thrown through windows don’t usually land lightly when they hit the ground. Extremely powerful and athletic people do. He turned and managed a feeble “Berwyn?” before a fist backed by big, heavy muscles met his face and sent him over the end of the couch.
Yulric hit the wall and bounced off, landing on his hands and feet in a spiderlike crouch. His brain tried to analyze the sight it had briefly glimpsed, but a kick to the ribs sent him back into the wall, and a fist to the back of the head tried to put him down.
If I may? proposed Yulric’s instincts.
Very well, relented his conscious mind.
And with that, Yulric’s arm shot out and broke an ankle.
The owner of the ankle fell to the floor, howling in pain. A moment later, he was howling in terror as a still-grounded Yulric made to eat his face. Someone grabbed Yulric’s robes and pulled back to stop the sprawling attack. The vampire let his assailant place him back on his feet before spinning around and smashing her head into a wall, then another wall, then a chair. He was about to make his way to the kitchen to see if her head could be smashed through the refrigerator when he was attacked from behind by a spray of holy water.
The holy water struck him in the back, soaking through his robes and burning his skin. Yulric released the head he was holding and turned, just in time to get another spray full in the face. Yulric clawed at his skin, tearing away chunks where the water had touched. One of his eyes bubbled and boiled. He was in the middle of plucking it out when he was forced back against the wall again. His arms were stretched out and pinned. Yulric tried to struggle, but the two men holding him were pressing crosses into his skin.
These weren’t just any men, though. Deep in the recesses of Yulric’s brain, behind the pain and snarling instincts, there was a moment of recognition.
That’s Berwyn, thought his conscious mind.
Can’t be, replied his animal instincts.
It is, assured the conscious mind. And the one on our right arm is Cassan. Look.
It . . . It is! said animal instincts. Would you—
Only if you don’t mind, replied conscious mind.
By all means, said instincts.
Reason returned to Yulric. The situation was easy enough to assess. He was pinned by crosses, being sprayed with holy water, and facing down at least seven assailants, nine if the footsteps upstairs were to be believed. But who his assailants were, that was the surprise. Cassan and Berwyn held his arms. The Gorgon held a bottle of holy water. The two trying to stand up were show writers Damien Black and Sanguina Marlowe. Back by the archway, Nora leaned against a wall, and standing next to her, holding Amanda by the throat, was Phantom in the far-less-than-spectral flesh.
“We’ve got him,” Phantom yelled, presumably to those upstairs. “Find anything up there?”
“The bastard had a kid chained underwater,” called down a voice from one Yulric loathed—Lord Dunstan, the redeemed vampire. Oh, how he wished to get his hands on that “man’s” throat and show him the error of his now-virtuous ways. “Just give us a minute.”
“Good. We’ll take care of things down here,” replied Phantom. He turned to the struggling Amanda. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you go once we’ve broken his power over you.” He turned away too quickly to see her roll her eyes at that.
So, thought Yulric, they think I am controlling the girl and her brother. And they mean to break that control. Which means . . .
“Nora,” said Phantom, “would you like to dust him?”
“Always,” replied Nora.
Surely not, thought Yulric. A plan formed. Not a great plan, but it would have to do.
Nora sprang away from the wall and grabbed the wooden stake from Phantom’s outstretched hand. The two seemed to share a moment, ending in a wink from Phantom. Amanda’s eyes went wide, taking in every detail, and she hopped excitedly from one foot to another. It was the best shipper end-zone dance she could manage while being held by the throat.
“Ready to die, beast?” Nora asked.
“Dhyhol a ver ph’logga shee—” began the ancient vampire.
“Stop him!” shouted Phantom. Cassan punched Yulric square in the jaw, dislocating it and preventing him from finishing the spell. No matter, thought Yulric. It had been only a distraction anyway.
Sprinting forward, Nora thrust her wooden stake through his chest with all her vampiric strength. Yulric let out a single cry of pain as the spike pierced his heart and lodged itself in the wood and plaster behind him. A moment later, all his skin turned to dust and fell to the ground, leaving a twisted, robeclad skeleton hanging on the wall.
The two vampires let go of the skeleton’s arms hesitantly.
“What the hell was that?” Nora gaped.
Cassan shook his head. “The Doctor said he might have powers, spells and transformations and stuff?”
“Is he supposed to dust like this?” asked Berwyn.
“Maybe all ancient vampires leave skeletons behind,” replied Phantom. “Oh. Oops.” He had just remembered he was holding Amanda by the throat. He let her go. “Sorry about that, Amanda. We had to be sure. You’re free now.”
He touched her face when he said that, which would have been a kind and loving gesture if (a) he hadn’t just been choking her or (b) she had actually been under any sort of spell. There was an awkward pause. Amanda looked at Phantom. Phantom looked at Amanda, expectantly. If this were the show, this would be the moment they’d kiss. And Amanda realized that was exactly what he was expecting, for her to throw herself at him. Her heart sank along with her ship. He and Nora weren’t together, Phantom was just a huge flirt.
Amanda took a step back and crossed her arms sullenly. “Thanks.”
“Uh, you’re welcome,” he said, obviously trying not to sound surprised.
The male vampires all snickered. Nearby, Nora caught Amanda’s eye and mouthed, “Thank you.”
“Ah. Here’s Victoria,” said Phantom as Victoria came around the corner. “Where’s the boy?” He gave Amanda a worried look. “He’s not—”
“I am here,” replied Simon, coming out from behind the new arrival. All the vampires smiled and relaxed. All except Victoria. Only Amanda noticed how stiff and nervous the vampiress seemed, her arms stuck to her sides, her eyes staring straight ahead. Amanda’s eyes narrowed on her brother; none of them had seen Simon hide something up his left sleeve or realized that a normal child would have said “Here I am.”
“See? All safe and sound,” Phantom said, smiling at Amanda.
“The monster’s power is broken. His hold over you is gone,” added the Gorgon in his raspy, lizard-like voice.
“Gorgon, can you not, please?” sniped Damien Black.
The raspy voice gave way. “I have to stay in character, Damien. I’m method.”
“One acting class does not make you method,” retorted the limping writer.
“So you staked the vampire?” Simon asked.
Phantom approached Simon and crouched down to talk with him. “Yeah, we staked him, little man.” He turned, apparently to make sure Amanda was seeing how good he was with children.
Nora sidled up beside Amanda. “He’s always like this,” Amanda explained tersely.
Under the pretext of being in awe of the vampire, Simon continued to examine Yulric’s corpse.
Meanwhile, a nagging doubt finally found a voice. “Where’s Lord Dunstan?” asked Berwyn.
The question was casual, but it seemed to shake Victoria awake. Whatever trance she’d been in cracked, and her eyes went back and forth as the inquiry reverberated around the room.
“Yeah, where is Lord Dunstan?” repeated Cassan.
“He was upstairs with you, Victoria,” said Berwyn. “Where’d he go?”
Audibly swallowing, Victoria’s eyes went straight to Simon. She looked as if she wanted to say something but was too afraid.
Simon paused in his examination long enough to answer. “Oh, the other guy? I told him about the vampire’s attic workshop, where it k
ept all of its secret artifacts. He went up to investigate.”
“Secret artifacts, you say?” asked the Gorgon, back in character.
“No!” said several people together.
“I’ll go look for him,” volunteered Berwyn.
Simon pointed up at the stake holding Yulric’s skeleton to the wall. “So, is that like magic or something?” he asked, doing his very best impression of a normal child. He inappropriately used the word like and everything.
Phantom seemed all too eager to play to a kid. “Yeah, buddy,” he said. “It’s a shard from the staff of St. Hadrian of Toulouse, who wards away evil.”
Simon’s face twitched. Amanda could tell that he knew about St. Hadrian42 and was fighting down his natural urge to correct the vampire. “Cool,” he said through a tight smile. Then, he lowered his eyes, toed the ground, and made a big show of embarrassment. “Can I see it?”
Phantom turned to the others. “I don’t see why not. Cassan?”
Cassan, who on the show would have known all the answers, shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He turned to the writers. “What do you think?”
The two writers conferred on the subject, if confer was the right word. Nerd bait might be a more accurate term. Damien seemed convinced that all was perfectly safe and that the immediate disintegration of the vampire’s blood-filled tissues served as evidence of this. Sanguina was more hesitant, maintaining that there was an inherent danger in removing the stake, and that if anyone needed her, she’d be investigating a murder on the Orient Express. Vampires, as it turned out, could suffer concussions. In the end, the more coherent writer won out.
“Come on, little buddy. You can do the honors,” said Phantom, taking Simon by the hand. They approached the skeleton. Simon hung back, pretending to be scared.
“Don’t worry,” said the vampire. “I’m right here.”
He bent down and put his hands around the boy’s waist.
“Ready?” he asked. “One. Two. Three.”
The vampire bounced Simon two times and then picked him up so that he was level with the skeleton.