Interesting Times (Interesting Times #1)

by Matthew Storm

  “Do I look like I…”

  “Do you know who I am?” Sally repeated. There was no anger or arrogance in her voice, Oliver noted, but she spoke with a seriousness that commanded attention.

  “Yes,” the man admitted.

  “Good. Now listen. Your boss owes my boss a favor. That favor is being called in. Right now. Open up the gate, then call ahead and tell him I’m coming up.” She smiled sweetly. “And then go ahead and call me ‘little girl’ again. But open the gate before you do. I don’t want to waste my time looking for the switch in there when I’m done cleaning what’s left of you off my jacket.”

  The man scowled, trying to stare her down. She held his gaze until he turned away and retreated into the guardhouse. A moment passed with nothing happening. Oliver wondered if the man was calling 911. But then the gate began to slide open. The man did not return.

  “Punk ass,” Sally muttered, starting up the driveway.

  “That was…” Oliver began.

  “Kinda scary,” Jeffrey finished the sentence.

  Sally shrugged. “He’s more afraid of making his boss angry than he is of me.”

  “Who is his boss?”

  “You’re about to meet him.”

  Sally drove directly to the front of the house, ignoring an adjacent lot where several luxury vehicles were parked in a perfectly straight row. A man and a woman were waiting for them at the door. The man appeared to be in his mid-fifties, handsome, with salt and pepper hair. He was wearing a red smoking jacket and holding a half-empty wine glass. Oliver hadn’t realized that people still wore smoking jackets. Unless they were Hugh Hefner, maybe.

  The woman was another story. She was a Latina in her mid-twenties, with dark hair and eyes. She wore an immaculate dark blue business suit, which seemed bizarrely formal next to the man’s casual attire. There was another obvious contrast; the man was smiling warmly at them, while the woman was expressionless, her eyes cold. She reminded Oliver of a snake coiled to strike. Or of Sally, for that matter.

  The man looked oddly familiar to Oliver. Hadn’t they met somewhere before? He was sure he knew the man.

  Sally turned off the car and sighed. She took in the waiting pair for a moment. “Well, here goes,” she said.

  “You sound nervous,” Oliver noted.

  “I am nervous.”

  “I thought you said we’d be safe here?” Oliver pointed out.

  “Yeah. It’s kind of a gamble,” Sally admitted. “I can’t imagine he’d ever dare to cross Artemis, but you never know. Try not to make him angry. Or Maria.”

  “Maria?”

  Sally nodded toward the sharply dressed woman. “His bodyguard. Or his attaché, maybe. Lover? I don’t really understand their relationship, but she’s probably more dangerous than he is.” She reached over and scratched Jeffrey behind the ears, surprising Oliver and the cat both. “You stay here, little cat. All right?”

  Jeffrey looked at the waiting man and woman curiously. “I think so,” he said slowly. Oliver wondered what these people smelled like to the cat.

  Sally opened her door and stepped out of the car, followed by Oliver a moment later. “My dear Sally,” the man called warmly. He had a deep voice that was made for radio. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” Sally said. She turned to Oliver. “Oliver Jones, this is John…”

  “You’re John Blackwell!” Oliver interrupted, suddenly recognizing the man. They had never met before, but Oliver knew Blackwell by name and reputation. He had been on the cover of Forbes a few years ago.

  “Indeed,” he said, extending a hand for Oliver to shake. Oliver was stunned. John Blackwell was a legendary figure in the world of high finance. He ran a hedge fund with investments all over the world. He’d been an early investor in Google, along with several other firms that had grown into famous names. Oliver guessed he was worth somewhere around a billion dollars. He was also known to be something of an eccentric, Howard Hughes-esque figure, rarely leaving his estate.

  Oliver understood at once why Sally had brought him here. This place was a virtual fortress, with armed security guards outside and who knew what else inside. It would be next to impossible for anyone hostile to get close to him.

  “I know why you are here, of course,” Blackwell continued. “It seems the lizards are quite eager to see the end of you, Mr. Jones. Filthy creatures,” he sniffed, taking a sip of wine.

  Oliver was stunned. John Blackwell knew about the Kalatari? What else did he know?

  “You’ve spoken to Artemis, then?” Sally asked.

  “Indeed,” Blackwell said again. “I must say I’m surprised that she is intervening in this matter.” He nodded at Oliver. “I take it he has some importance of which I am unaware?”

  “Yes,” Sally said. “It is very important to Artemis that he be unharmed.” Oliver didn’t miss her putting emphasis on the girl’s name. Sally looked warningly at Maria, who simply stared back at her, her blank expression betraying nothing.

  “Then unharmed he will remain,” Blackwell smiled. “I receive so few visitors. Interesting ones, that is. I’m simply dying to get acquainted with you, Mr. Jones.”

  “I want your word that…” Sally began.

  “You are on the verge of being rude,” Blackwell cut her off sharply. “I have said he will remain unharmed, and so that is how it shall be.” Blackwell turned and began to walk back to the house. Sally’s hand moved an inch closer to her jacket pocket, where Oliver knew she had a pistol waiting. Oliver saw Maria shift her body weight almost imperceptibly. Waiting for Sally to make the first move, he thought.

  “I’m fine,” Oliver said to Sally. “But aren’t you staying, too?”

  Sally shook her head, relaxing only slightly. “I have to get back to the city. Find Tyler, if he’s not back to himself yet. Then we’re going to start hitting the Kalatari.”

  “Hit them?”

  “That wasn’t clear enough?” she asked. “We’re going to fuck them up until they tell us what’s really going on with you.”

  “Oh,” Oliver said. He felt a little guilty. “It seems like…well, I should be helping you.”

  Sally started to smirk but stopped when she saw the earnest look in his eyes. “You really mean that, don’t you?” she asked. “That’s nice. But you’ve got a target on your back. We’re not going to get anything done if you’re tagging along.”

  “Sally, dear, are you staying or going?” Blackwell called over his shoulder.

  “Going,” she replied. She looked at Oliver. “Be good. Keep your hands to yourself in there and stay out of trouble. We’ll be back for you.”

  “All right.” Keep his hands to himself? He wasn’t so awed by Blackwell’s wealth that he was going to try to steal an ashtray or something.

  “Come along, Mr. Jones,” Blackwell said. Maria had stepped in front of her employer and was holding the front door open for him. “We’ll be much more comfortable inside.”

  Oliver watched as Sally turned the car around and drove away. He could see Jeffrey looking at him from the back window. He almost expected the cat to wave to him. As soon as they were out of sight he turned and followed Blackwell past Maria into the house.

  This wasn’t such a bad situation, he thought. It wasn’t like he got a chance to talk with someone in John Blackwell’s position every day. The man was one of the shrewdest investors on the West Coast. With a little luck, he’d be able to convince the man to put some money into Western Pacific Capital. His bosses would forgive him nearly anything if he could bring in a new client with such deep pockets. In his line of work, making money was more important than a little indiscretion here or there. Nobody would ever mention the strange events that had taken place at his office ever again. Things were really looking up.

  Maria closed the door behind them. She turned back to Oliver and smiled at him, revealing a pair of sharp fangs where her canine teeth should have been.

  Oh, Oliver thought. Maybe things weren’t looking up, after all.
r />   Chapter 12

  Blackwell caught Oliver staring at Maria’s teeth. “Oh, don’t mind that,” he said dismissively. “She won’t hurt you. Come along into the study.” He paused. “Oh, dear, where are my manners? Would you care for a glass of wine?” He held up his own glass. “This is a rather cheeky Bordeaux, but my cellar is extensive, if you’d like something else.”

  Oliver was unable to take his eyes off of Maria, who looked back at him with barely concealed amusement. “Mr. Jones, it is rather rude to stare,” Blackwell chided him. “Come now, this can’t be the first time you have seen a vampire.”

  “It is, actually,” Oliver admitted.

  “Oh my, really?” Blackwell frowned. “How dreadful. What a dull life you must lead.”

  “I used to think so,” said Oliver. Up until yesterday, it had been true. He was beginning to miss that dull life.

  Another woman approached them, a busty redhead in a dark gothic dress which seemed to be made almost entirely out of gossamer lace. She carried a silver tray which held two glasses of red wine. Oliver couldn’t help but notice the woman’s unusually pale skin.

  “Ah, yes,” Blackwell said. “Thank you, Chantal.” Blackwell drained the glass he’d been drinking from and placed it on the tray. He removed both of the new glasses and offered one to Oliver. “Please, Mr. Jones.”

  Oliver took the glass out of politeness. He was about to take a sip when a sudden thought occurred to him and he stopped, looking at the red liquid suspiciously. Blackwell laughed pleasantly and Oliver saw a small, evil smile on Maria’s lips. “I assure you, Mr. Jones, it is merely wine,” Blackwell said. “Well, I shouldn’t say merely. It is very good wine. But it is only wine.”

  Oliver raised the glass again, sniffed at it, and then took a small, tentative sip. Wine. And an excellent wine, at that. Oliver was not a connoisseur. He’d always thought that people who described wine as “having a good nose” or “tasting of cherries and pine trees” were just bluffing in an attempt to impress others. But in this glass he could taste far more than simple fermented grape juice. He thought about the flavors as he swirled the wine around in his glass. Honey? Blackberries and…was that chocolate? Where could he get wine like this? And could he possibly afford it if he did find it?

  “Excellent,” Blackwell smiled. “Cheeky, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I don’t know,” Oliver admitted. “But it is very good.”

  “Prepare a room for our guest,” Blackwell instructed Chantal, who turned and disappeared down the hall. Oliver watched as the pale woman left them.

  “Is she a…” he began to ask.

  “Oh, indeed,” Blackwell said.

  Oliver frowned. “So is that her uniform or something?”

  “I do like the classics,” Blackwell smiled, seeming just slightly embarrassed. “Not that I’m ever going to wear a cape, of course. That is an unfortunate stereotype.”

  Oliver nodded before he realized the implications of what the other man had just said. He looked at Blackwell in surprise. “You?”

  “Of course,” Blackwell said. He smiled widely and Oliver could see that he had fangs as well.

  “Of course,” Oliver sighed. Legendary hedge fund manager John Blackwell was a vampire. He lived in a big house with his vampire bodyguard and his vampire maid and…Oliver’s eyes widened. “Is everyone here…” he began.

  “I’m afraid so,” Blackwell said, nodding. He noted Oliver’s startled expression. “Never fear, my dear boy. Nobody will harm you. To do so would invite my punishment, and I’m afraid I am rather strict about that sort of thing. Come along. The study is this way.”

  Blackwell led Oliver into a magnificently appointed study that was nearly as big as Oliver’s entire house. The furniture was early 20th century in style. If Oliver had seen it yesterday he’d have assumed it was all replica, but now he had to wonder if these were originals that Blackwell had collected over the years.

  “Cigar?” Blackwell offered, sitting down.

  “No, thank you,” Oliver said.

  “Just as well,” Blackwell said. “They are terrible for you. That is of less importance to me, of course.”

  “Vampires don’t get cancer?” That question had never occurred to Oliver before. Nor had it occurred to any rational person, ever, he thought.

  “Of course not,” Blackwell said, looking at Oliver like he was an idiot.

  “Yeah,” Oliver nodded, sipping his wine. It really was excellent. He wondered if Blackwell would offer him another glass.

  “So,” the other man said. “Tell me, Mr. Jones, why do the lizards want you dead?”

  Oliver didn’t know where to start. “I really don’t know,” he finally admitted. “This has been the craziest day of my life.”

  “You must have done something to upset them, did you not?”

  “I’d never even seen one of them before tonight,” Oliver said. “A…a Kalatari. I’d never even heard that word before. This time yesterday I wouldn’t have believed they even existed.”

  “That must be frustrating for you,” Blackwell noted sympathetically.

  “I’m just a regular guy,” Oliver said. “I’m a stock analyst. I look at spreadsheets. I write reports. The truth is I’m incredibly boring.”

  “I don’t think that’s boring,” Blackwell said. “Analysis paid for everything you see in this house.” Oliver saw Maria smirk. “Well,” Blackwell said, catching her eye, “analysis, and just a bit of ruthlessness.”

  Oliver drank more of his wine, wanting to ask an obvious question but not wanting to sound foolish again. “You’re a vampire,” he finally said.

  “Had we not established that already?” Blackwell asked.

  “But that’s wine you’re drinking, isn’t it?”

  Blackwell peered at his glass curiously. “Why, I do believe it is,” he said, as if he were realizing that for the first time.

  “Shouldn’t you be drinking…you know.”

  Blackwell raised his eyebrows. “Blood?”

  “Yes.”

  “I do drink blood,” Blackwell said, as if he were talking to a child. “I must do, don’t I? Tell me, Mr. Jones, do you drink water?”

  “Of course.”

  “Must you not drink water in order to live?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you drink only water?”

  “No.”

  Blackwell raised his glass to Oliver. “Cheers.” He took a drink.

  Oliver wasn’t sure that analogy would hold up to much scrutiny, but he got the point. “So this is…” he looked at Maria. “All these people are your vampire family, or something?”

  “Or something,” Blackwell replied. “We are not the Munsters. A few of the staff here were already vampires who chose to serve me. The others were humans that I turned myself. As such, they are my subjects, and I am their master. Isn’t that right, Maria?”

  “Ever yours, my master,” Maria said, tilting her head at him in an odd sideways nod.

  Oliver was beginning to feel a bit tipsy. Had he had too much wine already? He really was a lightweight. “I find it safer to surround myself with those I know to be loyal,” Blackwell continued. “Take Maria, here. She has been with me for…”

  “One hundred ninety-eight years, my master.” She seemed to be beaming, Oliver thought. He suspected her feelings for Blackwell went far beyond simple loyalty.

  “Ah, yes.” Blackwell swirled the wine in his glass, then drained it. “We will have to do something special for your two hundredth birthday,” he said to her. “Think it over and let me know what you’d like.”

  What did vampires get for their birthdays, Oliver wondered. A victim with an unusual blood type? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “You really have no idea why the lizards want you?” Blackwell asked Oliver. He sounded disappointed.

  “None. Really.”

  “Hmm. Well, they are despicable creatures. No sense of class at all. They really can’t die out fast enough, if you as
k me.”

  “Sally said something about that. They had a civil war?”

  “Religious divisions would be a better way to put it. I don’t know what they argue about, truly. Perhaps some think god has one tail, while others think he has three tails.” Oliver saw Maria smirk again. “It hardly matters. They’ve slaughtered themselves out of a viable breeding stock. They have perhaps a hundred years left. After that they’ll be a memory.”

  Not for most people, Oliver thought. But something had occurred to him. “You mentioned religion? We heard that they had killed someone else over a prophecy, but that turned out to be part of a trick to get me out of hiding.”

  “There could be some truth to that,” Blackwell admitted. “Prophecy is something they take very seriously. I do find it unlikely that they would have a prophecy involving you, however. Prophecies about stock analysts must be fairly rare, I would think.”

  “Yeah.” Oliver had to agree that that was probably true.

  “And how do you know your new friends?” Blackwell asked. “You’ve met Artemis and Tyler, I’m sure. And of course poor Sally Rain.”

  “Poor Sally…” Oliver began to ask, but then decided he was more interested in a different question. “What exactly is Artemis? She looks like a little girl, but…”

  “Exactly?” Blackwell asked. He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I met her for the first time when I was very young. She was already old, even then. And by your standards, Mr. Jones, I myself am positively ancient.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask,” Oliver said. Any number of questions had occurred to him in the last few minutes. How much of what he had seen in the movies was true? Were vampires really immortal? Did they live forever, unless someone got lucky with a wooden stake? Did wooden stakes even work? What about sunlight and garlic?

  “Then do not ask,” Blackwell said. “Odd that they’ve taken you under their wing, though. Babysitting is not their usual line of work. Nor is it mine, but tonight will satisfy my most recent debt to Artemis.” He leaned forward. “I am a man who pays my debts, Mr. Jones.”