The club was now down to half, and the professor hadn’t uttered one word. Sometimes I think he took stoicism to an extreme. As any good vampire fan knew, there was such a thing as overkill.
Juan paced a little. “You’re calling the hunt off until further notice? That’s as shitty as it gets! Do you realize how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?”
“Juan, that is why I’m calling it off tonight. This is an incredible opportunity for all of us, and I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Who the hell voted you leader, after all? What a mistake.”
And when the ringing in my ears died down after he’d slammed the door behind him, I wondered if maybe I was imagining a huge conspiracy where none existed.
And that’s when the professor dropped his wiry hand on my shoulder. “The role of the leader is a tough one. You did the right thing, Andy. They obviously don’t see it, and I can only hope they don’t do anything foolish.”
Chapter Fourteen
In the morning, I awoke in a tangle of sheets and thoughts. My sleep hadn’t been peaceful, for I had been most troubled and harassed by images of a frothing Dial Toen and his so-called relatives. All things considered, I would rather have had Buddy’s dream.
As I slipped on my I’m A Vampire, She’s A vampire, Wouldn’t You Like To Be A Vampire, Too? T-shirt, I wondered what kind of reception we would receive that morning from the purported VVV.
If it were true that Dial Toen and his relatives were vampire hunters—or vampire-corpse watchers—and all the circumstantial evidence supported this theory, I imagined they might be a little pissed off at us. We probably spoiled their fun. I also imagined that their jobs had become almighty boring if it were true—as we believed—that they had hunted all the vampires down. The bastards!
So there we were, blasting our find through the papers like a bunch of kids unable to hold a secret—and I still wondered who spilled the proverbial beans. And no doubt, these misguided guardians got all jollied up when they heard we were coming. Finally, some fun at last.
Well, we had caught on just in time, and whatever they had planned for us the night before was history, just like the vampires, those poor vampires, shot in cold blood with even colder silver bullets.
The only odd thing about the whole theory was if all their work was done, why did the VVV still amass in such great numbers? Surely retelling the same old war stories got old even for Granddaddy Grandmaster.
I tucked my ragged T-shirt into my jeans and decided it was time to face the music—preferably an ominously cheesy Dark Shadows pipe organ—and as long as Dial and his friends were clueless that we were wise to them, things should go smoothly.
The door creaked open, as required of old—and evil—mansions. The hall was empty and as I looked at the closed doors to the rooms next to mine, I briefly wondered if the others had awoken. Especially Janice. I tried not to think of her in bed in those toasty warm Speed Racer pajamas, and I especially didn’t want to think of her in the shower.
Or maybe I did.
It was still somewhat early, and we’d had a long, tumultuous night, so I decided to let them sleep in if they desired.
The floor creaked in perfect unison to my stride as I went down the hall and to the stairs. On the first floor, I found what appeared to be an empty house.
I made a left, then a right, then a U-turn, backed up ten spaces, closed my eyes, clicked my heels three times, and was in the kitchen. God, I hated these huge houses. But at least the sardine cans were gone.
And so was pretty much anything resembling food. Plates were stacked high in the sink, with syrup, egg yolk, and other goo running down the precarious pillar’s sides. My stomach grumbled as if it had a mind of its own.
I looked around the kitchen and wondered where the fridge was, since there was a good chance I might find a bite to eat in there. It was nowhere. I leaned against the cold, metal wall and wondered where I could dig up some chow—and the thought of “digging up” brought agonizing images of the Vampire Laumer—when I thought it odd to be leaning against a metal wall.
And when I turned, I came face to face with the biggest refrigerator I had ever seen. It rose from floor to ceiling, a height of over thirty feet. I wondered if I should call Mr. Guinness, so all might hail the astonishing appliance. There was even some magnified plastic fruit the size of my head stuck to the door. But no photographs like you’d see on a normal fridge.
I pulled hard, and slowly, ever so slowly, the door creaked open, much like the door to a vault. A powerful white light poured out and completely covered me. One word came to my lips and I couldn’t help but utter: “God?”
No, it wasn’t God, but it was close. I thought of the most food I’d ever seen in one place. Perhaps it was a luau, maybe a buffet table, a meat locker, whatever.
That is how much food I was looking at. And if it hadn’t been for these sardine-breathed vampire hunters, I could have died right there with a smile. But I had a task to do. No, not a task, a responsibility.
Vampires had done so much for me, even if they didn’t even know it. They had sculpted my life, their true or fictitious stories were as deeply engrained in me as my ability to walk. My every thought was first filtered through my understanding of vampires, for I viewed, as you might have seen, the world slightly differently. Without vampires, I did not exist, did not want to exist. Without them, the world sucked.
And right then, thanks to these garlic-eating, cat-chasing, weight-lifting losers, the vampires were gone. How they managed to hunt down each and every one—and I honestly believed they had—and nailed them with a silver bullet, I could not fathom.
But right then that was unimportant. We first had to find and free the Vampire Laumer from his bondage, and then maybe he, if he is up to it, could shed some light on the subject.
Speaking of light, I was now standing in it—a lot of it! A steel ladder had been welded along the left side of the behemoth fridge, and, being the adventuresome fellow I was, I started up it.
Up I went, up into a strange world of eats and drinks. I passed shelf after shelf, eyeing roasts and hams and rutabagas and béarnaise sauces and lemons and parsnips and the usual unidentifiable stuff in small Tupperware containers. I looked down once and almost got dizzy. I held fast and continued up. Where were the almighty eggs? That was all I wanted.
And then I was upon them. It was a whole row of them. Some were boxed, but most were scattered about the shelf, as if the chickens had flown up there and laid them. I stood there on the frozen ladder, mouth open, looking across a bumpy sea of white eggs.
I needed at least four, but I took five instead. And that’s when I noticed the Food Lift, or at least that’s what it said on its side. It was a mini-elevator, of sorts, but its purpose was obvious: How else were they supposed to get all this food down from thirty feet up?
I pushed a button on my left and waited patiently as the platform rose from the bottom. It hummed and chugged, and actually had a pretty good beat, and soon I discovered I was tapping my foot on the rung of the ladder to the beat of the mechanical pulley.
It stopped at the egg shelf, and I placed my five eggs in the designated compartment, then pressed the down button, and proceeded to try to beat the lift down.
The lift won and I was a close second.
I rummaged around and found a no-stick frying pan and vegetable oil—the cabinet was as packed as the fridge, but it was only eighteen feet high—and set to cooking. I was humming right along, ready for the big over-easy flip, when a screeching old haggish witch came swooping at me from above.
Actually, it was just an old woman scurrying across the kitchen, but I have a tendency toward melodrama, as you might have noticed. It came with the vampire territory.
She was as big as the others, although gray-haired and a little stooped, and she came at me with a sharp knife in hand. Her hot breath shot out before her like a steam engine. She stopped before me and I closed my eyes, waiting in anticipation fo
r the coming pain.
It didn’t come. Instead, a surprising verbal backlashing assaulted my ears. “Young man! Your eggs are burning, and I hate the smell of burned eggs!”
“But, you scared—”
“No buts. I’m the only one around here who makes breakfast. Done it for twenty years and am pretty damned good. That’s my job. I make breakfast in this house. I am breakfast, here me roar.”
My stomached roared.
“Oh, you poor, poor boy. You must really be hungry.” She grabbed me by my arm and heaved me onto a stool using one arm, and with the other she drove the tip of the knife about an inch into the wooden countertop. When I opened my eyes, I found myself sitting at a sort of bar and the woman was salvaging my eggs.
Even though she was as big as any of Dial’s other relatives, she seemed to have a heart of golden margarine melting on a stack of pancakes, and with my initial terror residing, I decided to ask her a few questions.
“So where’s everyone else?”
“They’re all in the study, those animals!”
Her hands moved with precision despite her obvious age. And I wondered how come she stayed so spry and spritely. She was pale and didn’t seem to be one of Toen’s cousins, who were all muscular and dark-skinned.
“And they’ve already eaten breakfast?”
“Every last one. Got me up a full two hours earlier to make it, too.”
“The nerve.”
“No kidding. Anchovy omelets, onion rings, pickled pineapple hearts, and bacon. Lots and lots of bacon.”
“It must have been a special occasion for them to get up so early.”
“Who the hell knows? I just make breakfast for them, for I am breakfast, hear—”
“—me roar,” I chimed in. “Did you happen to, er, um, overhear anything while the family was eating?”
She looked at me fiercely and for a moment I thought I had overstepped the boundaries of casual conversation, but then she said, “Something about plans gone awry, and have to rethink things, and how come bacon is better than sausage.”
She was the cook, but I was the one cooking up a diabolical plan to trick information out of her. “This might be an odd question...what’s your name?”
“Becky Fast.”
“Mine’s Andy Barthamoo. Of the Vampire Club.” I wanted to see if that would get any reaction.
“All the others are named Toen. Are you not a relative?”
I blushed, aware of my pale and distinct lack of musculature compared to these bronzed athletes, and said, “Gee, thanks. Anyway, I was wondering if all these people always live in this one mansion. I mean, it’s a big house, and no doubt all can live here quite comfortably, but it just seems odd that so many relatives live under one roof.”
“Did you say ‘relatives’?”
“Yes, Ms. Fast.”
“Please, just Becky. They’re no family, that’s for sure.”
I blinked. “They’re not related?”
“That’s for sure.”
Once again, I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. They sure looked alike, but it meant Becky was lying. Or else Dial.
I knew where my bet was placed.
Chapter Fifteen
“Becky, can you, uh, hold on a second. I forgot that I needed to wake my friends now.”
But what I really meant was: don’t spill all your guts until the others can hear. But I knew she didn’t guess my hidden meaning when she asked: “Should I make more eggs?”
“Yes, enough to feed four others. Well, five, because Buddy can really pack it away. And his dream was probably exhausting.”
And as I exited the cavern-like kitchen, I heard her open the fridge and begin clambering up the face of it, using the ladder instead of the lift. Maybe that’s how she stayed in such good shape.
I pounded my way through the maze in a hurry to have the others listen to Becky Fast, but hesitated when I saw two giants playing cards by the front door. Not everyone, apparently, was attending the on-going meeting in the study.
I smiled and waved at them as I strolled by. One forced a smile and the left corner of the other’s mouth quivered. Actually, I didn’t expect even that much since we must have spoiled their fun last night.
And as I marched up the stairs, I decided right then and there that it was time to get to the bottom of things. Sure, the evidence indicated we were among the enemy, but I wanted some cold, hard facts.
Then it hit me. What a strange place to be playing cards—and so early. There were no doubt a few more exits in this mansion, and I wondered if I would find another duo playing cards in front of those as well. Yes, we were being watched, of that I was sure.
The first door at the top of the stairs was Janice’s. And that’s when I received quite a shock—I could hear her snoring like a sailor. Could I get used to snoring like that—that was, if she ever gave me the time of day and hopefully of night? I’m sure I could. A small price to pay—the snoring—when you’re with the one you love.
I cleared my throat then rapped lightly on the door. No response. Just the rhythmic buzzing. I knocked a little harder this time. Still nothing. “My sweetness, it’s time to get up.”
I knocked harder. Nothing. Harder still. Nothing. “Janice, my one and only love, I need to talk to you!”
And the bees buzzed. I looked at my knuckles. They were red and beginning to swell. My eyebrows were knotted from confusion and wonder. This time I used the side of my hand and pounded against the door like a jackhammer. “Janice!”
Doors opened around me. Juan said something to Buddy. Professor L asked something, but I heard all this at the back of my mind. This was getting personal. She was going to wake up if I had to stand there and pound my bloody, mangled stump of a hand all day long.
And then a cold chill gripped me even as the sweat oozed through my pores. I had a mental image of Dial in there, blissfully jackhammering away, recovering from an exhausting night in Janice’s bed, while she cuddled against him sans Speed Racer pajamas.
I jackhammered myself, pounding on the door. “Janice, get the hell up!”
And the door opened just as my hand was heading toward it again. I stopped my fist just inches from her pillow-creased face. Some of those creases weren’t from a pillow’s indentation—they were from the twisted fury of my rude impatience and, though she didn’t know it, my flaming jealousy.
“You’re sweating like a pig,” she said.
And so I was. My heart was also beating as fast as my fist had recently been pounding on her door. Maybe, after all, this would be a problem for us in the future, a problem, her face told me, I wouldn’t have to worry about for a long time to come.
I peered past her but the bed appeared empty. Dial could be brushing his teeth in the bathroom, flexing his muscles in the mirror, but I didn’t think so. He was no doubt enwrapped in the orgy of our overthrow.
I tried to catch my breath while the others looked at me. I tried to smile. Finally, I managed to rasp, “Must...go...down... stairs...important.”
“Why?” asked Juan.
“Maid...info...on...VVV.”
“Huh?”
I stumbled over to him and grabbed the collar of his blood-red pajamas, glad to have an outlet for my suppressed frustration. “Make like Nike and just do it.”
“The maid has some news for us?” asked professor L.
“And some eggs.”
“All right, guys,” said the professor. “You heard the man. Downstairs.”
They disappeared into their respective rooms. I waited a moment to see if Dial emerged, either cocky or furtive, from Janice’s room, but the suspense became unbearable.
I began my journey back to the kitchen, but I must have been so distracted I made a few wrong turns. And when I finally stumbled into the kitchen, they were all well into their meals.
“I fed the rest of your eggs to Cuddles,” said Becky. “They were cold.”
“Cuddles?” I asked.
“The Dob
erman pinscher. When she’s not hunting her own food, she just loves eggs.”
What mansion wouldn’t be complete without its Dobermans? Except there was always two, wasn’t there? “Where’s the other?” I asked.
“You mean Pudgy?” She peered out the kitchen window. “Looks like he’s caught himself another wild boar.”
She placed another steaming plate of eggs and toast before me as I sat down. Janice was glaring at me, and I chose to think positively—at least she was looking at me. Dial, of course, was nowhere around. Some club member. I considered calling an emergency meeting to revoke his membership, but Becky’s information was more pressing.
“Whenever you’re ready,” said Buddy, a piece of egg finding a strategic if not comfy little place to hide on that bridge of skin separating the left nostril from the right.
I reached over and picked the egg off. “Becky, could you come here a second?” I said, absently putting whatever was on my finger into my mouth. I liked eggs.
“Sure, hon. Need more?”
“No, I’m fine. Actually I haven’t even begun to start. Becky, how long were you telling me you’ve worked here as a maid?”
“Not maid, Andy, cook, breakfast cook.” And boy was I glad she didn’t give that line about being the breakfast incarnate. “For over twenty years.”
I smiled at my friends as I asked the next question. “So, after working as the breakfast cook for over twenty years, you’ve witnessed a lot of events in this old mansion.”
“No kidding. And let me tell you, not all of it, let’s say, is normal.”
As if Spock’s human genes had come back in time and possessed us, we all arched a curious eyebrow. This was indeed going more smoothly than I had hoped. Becky Fast must not have had many people to gab with and was happy to finally spill the beans. Or bacon bits.
“Not that I mean to pry,” I said, “but could you tell us everything?”
“That would take far too many days and breakfasts, and I don’t miss breakfast! Let me just start by telling you folks this: they are neither immediate family nor kin, and whatever they do, they do in private, and what I do hear I can make no sense of.”
Scott Nicholson Library Vol 2 Page 35