by Nina Bruhns
Looking at them more closely, Giselle saw that they’d been made from black construction paper in the shape of a bat in flight. Each had a heart in the center. Giselle noticed that many of the hearts had different colors.
“Vampires are assigned a badge with a red heart,” Mr. Eye Patch said. “I suppose the red is supposed to be blood.”
“I’m not a vampire.”
“Do you want to be? Wannabes get a pink heart.”
“No.”
He seemed nonplussed. “All but one of the badges I’ve issued tonight have been red and pink. I did issue one gray one. They’re for the unbelievers. You don’t want that one.”
“Why not?”
“They harassed the guy I issued it to until he left, crying.”
“Ah, you’re right. I wouldn’t want to be harassed by the group fighting harassment,” Giselle remarked dryly.
Mr. Eye Patch didn’t seem to get the irony.
“You have to have a badge.” He paused, uncertain of how to proceed. “I can’t let you in without a badge.”
“What are the purple hearts for? Gay vampires?” Giselle asked.
He smirked cockily and waved away her comment with one hand. “No. They’re for the press. You know. Purple prose?”
“I thought the press would be yellow, for yellow journalism. Or are they for cowardly vampires?” Giselle laughed.
Mr. Eye Patch lost his cockiness. “You’re right. The yellow ones are for journalists. Now I’m confused. What are the purple ones for?” He scratched his bearded chin. Some moments later he leaned toward Giselle. “Confidentially, I’m not a regular with this organization. I was just hired to handle door security tonight.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m a writer, so I get a yellow one.” Maybe she could finally get into the party and get some of those delicious-smelling canapés before they were all gone.
Mr. Eye Patch perked up with excitement. “If you’re writing about the party maybe you can write about this.” He reached into his pants. For a second, Giselle held her breath, afraid of what he would do. Then his hand whipped out again, holding a business card. He thrust it out to her as if wielding a sword. “You could profile me for your article.”
Giselle plucked it from his hand and read. Peter Redbeard. Asset acquisition and personal security consultant.
“Peter Redbeard? You are a pirate. But don’t you think Blackbeard would be more appropriate?”
Mr. Eye Patch stood stony-faced. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Asset acquisition? Is that the same thing as plundering for pirate booty?” Giselle laughed.
Mr. Eye Patch glowered.
“Oh, never mind. Just give me the badge so I can enjoy the party.” Or at least the food.
“I’m not sure if I can issue you one of those if you don’t have your press credentials with you,” Mr. Eye Patch said in a belligerent tone.
“It’ll be okay. Lester knows me. I’m working on a project with him.”
Mr. Eye Patch glanced behind him. “Let me just go and ask him. What’s your name?”
“Anne Rice.”
“Wait here Ms. Rice. I’ll be right back.”
When he had disappeared down the hall and into a crowd of people in a room to the right, Giselle snatched up a purple-hearted bat and pinned it to her blouse. She slipped into the crowd in a room to the left of the hall. No need for Lester to know she’d arrived just yet.
Neither Kopeleski nor Madam could be seen. Giselle spotted a uniformed waiter circulating among a group of people. Wow, Lester had the party catered. Another waiter appeared on her left.
“Canapé, miss?” He eyed her bat. Or maybe it was her chest he was ogling. Hey, wait a minute. He looked familiar. Wasn’t he the pimply faced teenage motel desk clerk with the internet porn habit? Naw, couldn’t be. Could it?
“Yes,” Giselle said, snapping up a crab cake and popping it in her mouth. It melted in her mouth with deliciousness. “Urmm, dank ew.”
“What?”
“Thank you,” Giselle repeated, this time without the mouthful. The waiter started to move away. “Hold it, mister.” Giselle took two more crab cakes off the platter.
The waiter tried to hide a smile as she stuffed one of them in her mouth. “What’s the purple heart for?”
“Hrmm?” She chewed and then swallowed.
“The purple heart on the bat. You’re the only one I’ve seen with a purple heart. What does the purple mean?”
Giselle thought hard. Nothing intelligent came to mind. She swallowed a lump of canapé. “It means I like Prince.”
“Huh.” He eyed the bat one last time then walked away.
As she finished off her third canapé, Giselle glimpsed a bar set up on a table in the corner. She decided that she could definitely use a drink to fortify her before heading off on her mission to…to what? What did she hope to find out at this party? Ren and Field had fled. Would Lester reveal anything that could explain what had been going on?
Giselle scanned the crowd. A blonde woman spoke animatedly to a young man. Her hand clutched and then caressed his arm in turns as she thrust her ample bosom forward. Miss Sandy. Giselle moved closer and caught a snippet of the conversation.
“I was a race car driver for a time,” Miss Sandy said. “But the helmet caused terrible acne. So, even though they begged me not to leave, I moved here to Savannah.”
Just then Miss Sandy caught sight of Giselle.
“Don’t I know you?” Miss Sandy called past her companions to Giselle.
“Yes,” Giselle answered. “I think we climbed Mount Kilamanjaro together.”
Miss Sandy thought about that for a second then smiled. “Oh, yeah.”
Giselle pushed past several partygoers and had just reached for a plastic glass of pre-poured red wine at the makeshift bar when—
“Don’t touch it!” A male voice ordered behind her. Giselle’s hand stopped mid-reach. She recognized the voice. “I mean it. Don’t you dare touch it!”
“But I just―” an equally recognizable female voice answered.
Glancing over her shoulder, Giselle saw a middle-aged couple, the two from the antique store. Oh, yeah. The bully and the klepto. Best to stay out of that mess.
She scanned the room and didn’t see anyone else she recognized until she saw Kopeleski. The wizard stood alone near the entrance to the hall. He snatched a canapé from the tray of a passing waiter and popped it in his mouth. Munching, his eyes shifted right and left. Then he darted out of the room and into the hallway as if he were trying to avoid anyone seeing him leave.
What was this devious lunatic up to? And where was Madam? Even though she didn’t personally care about the medium’s welfare, she didn’t want to face Ry if something happened to his mother.
Giselle sidled around a laughing group of partygoers. Were those fangs she saw in one guy’s mouth? Oh, never mind that now. She had to follow Kopeleski. She peeked around the doorjamb down the hall and spotted the wizard with his back to a door a few feet away. Again, he surreptitiously looked in one direction, and then the other, before putting his hand behind him onto the knob of the door. He turned it slowly. When the door was open a crack, he slipped through into the room beyond. The door quickly clicked to a close.
What was he doing in that room? So far she hadn’t seen Lester or Marissa. Was Kopeleski in there meeting with either or both of them? She didn’t trust the crazy wizard. He was in this…this…conspiracy up to his third eye ball.
Creeping down the empty hall, Giselle soon stood at the closed door. She put her ear to the wood panel and listened. She heard low murmuring. Then a stifled cry—a woman’s cry—followed almost instantaneously by the sound of something crashing to the floor. More low cries, almost a keening sound, seeped through the door to Giselle’s ears.
Omigod, they were killing someone in there. What should she do? Frantically searching the hall, she spotted a lighter—a long, fireplace lighter—on the hall table. Oh, well,
it was the best she could do in a pinch. She grabbed it up. Giselle’s hand went to the knob of the door. She turned, pushed and stormed in, holding the lighter at arm’s length in front of her like a gun.
“Stop what you’re doing! I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it.”
The two figures quit struggling against each other as Giselle’s voice echoed in the bathroom. Kopeleski and Madam Divinity stood frozen—caught in an act Giselle didn’t even want to think about.
“Uh,” Giselle groaned.
Before she could look away, the image had burned an indelible memory into her brain. The memory of the half-naked wizard pressing Ry’s mother to the wall opposite the toilet, Madam’s legs wrapped around his waist. Giselle crammed the lighter into her pocket and quickly hid her eyes behind both hands.
“What do you want?” Kopeleski gasped, clearly winded from his exertions.
“Sorry,” Giselle said. “Go back to what you were doing. Or not. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought that you— Never mind. I didn’t realize you were both in here or I would have knocked,” she babbled. “Also, I didn’t know this was a bathroom. If I’d known I wouldn’t have—”
“Just get out,” Madam said, panting.
“No problem.” Stepping back, Giselle rammed into the door. “Ow.” Her hand fell away from her eyes. Another grotesque snapshot image fried a few million more brain cells before she could fix her gaze on the ceiling. “Oops, I’m getting out.”
She made it through the opening, groped blindly, gripped the edge of the door and slammed it shut.
In desperate need of a drink, Giselle stumbled back into the party throng. She had almost reached the bar when she saw Mr. Eye Patch standing beside it. He seemed to be searching the crowd for something…or someone. Crap.
Giselle spun around and took a step in the opposite direction, straight into the path of another partygoer. They collided and Giselle caught hold of the slight figure she had knocked off balance.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. Then recognition registered. “It’s you!”
“Giselle, ma cherie.” Vector grinned. “You have found me. It is great luck, no?”
“No.”
Vector grabbed Giselle’s hands and began pressing kisses into the palm of first one and then the other. “When I could not find you earlier I thought to myself, Vector you have lost her. She has checked out of the hotel. How do you find the love again?”
He kissed the back of her hand.
“She is gone, disappeared.”
He kissed the back of the other hand.
“How will you go on if you do not see her again? The fates have separated you from the only woman you will ever love. It is a tragedy, no?”
“No.” Giselle pulled her hands from his and wiped the backs on her skirt.
“You do not love Vector? Tell me what I can do to make you love me?”
“Well, they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. You should try it some time.”
He frowned with confusion. Vector’s confusion always looked suspiciously like constipation.
“Never mind. What are you doing here?”
“I donate a painting to VICTIM for what they call an auction silent. It is what they call publicity for Vector’s art.” He waved toward an easel to the side of the bar.
Leaning against the back of the easel, perched atop a shelf, was an oil painting three feet high by two feet wide. The painting, a portrait with an impressionistic, dreamlike quality, depicted a figure who appeared to be standing in a fog. But the figure—obviously intended to be Vector—had fangs protruding from his upper lip and blood rivulets running down each side of his painted chin.
Vector watched her reaction eagerly.
“Ummm,” she said after a long pause.
A silent auction notebook hung from the shelf, but it contained no bids. No surprise there.
“It is good, yes?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Of course, it is good. I create the style, which is unique in all the world.”
A voice piped in behind them. The voice of the bully. “Anyone who imagines that they are creating anything new in the art world is completely self-aggrandizing.”
Vector turned and smiled at Mr. Bully. “Oh, yes, I am very grand.”
“Harrumph.” The bully stalked away, pulling his klepto behind him.
Giselle had to purse her lips together firmly to keep from laughing. Vector mistook her expression.
“Do not worry, mon amour. I am not the real vampire. You see?” Vector indicated his pink-hearted identification badge. “I paint myself as many different characters. This one, it present Vector as Dracula. I paint a series of Vector as the characters from books.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Oui,” he said in a gleeful tone. “There is Dracula, Romeo of course, Julius Caesar, Oliver Twist…”
“The seven dwarfs.”
Vector actually jumped up and down with excitement. “Oui. You have seen? It is one of my most popular.”
“I bet. You seem like the right type for it.”
He preened. “Merci. I paint myself as each of the dwarfs in separate portraits and the final painting, it is all seven Vector dwarfs marching. Spectacular. Seven feet tall and ten feet wide.” Vector’s face glowed proudly. “But my most famous in the series is the sea captain Moby Dick.”
“Moby Dick isn’t the sea captain, it’s the name of the whale.”
“Who?”
“Whale.”
“Quoi?”
“What?”
“Yes.”
“Stop it. You’re confusing me,” Giselle said. “I’m talking about the whale. You know, the big thing that swims in the ocean.”
“Whale?” He became indignant. “Vector is not fish.”
“A whale isn’t a fish. It’s a mammal.”
“Vector is not a fish or a mummy. I do not think Vector would look good with the bandages all over him. You could not see Vector’s face.” He shook his head vigorously. “No, Vector is a sea captain, Moby Dick.”
“No. I think you mean Ahab.”
“Eh!” Vector responded, clearly peeved. He wagged his finger at her. “I am from France, I am not Arab.”
“I didn’t say… Never mind.”
His face softened immediately. “I forgive you, mon amour.” He grabbed her hand and made a move to kiss it again.
Giselle yanked her arm away. “Eww. Don’t kiss me. Didn’t I say, I never wanted to see you again?”
“Oui. But you do not mean it. You say this to incite the lust in Vector. You are very smart,” he said tapping his temple and smiling slyly. “You track Vector to this party. Vector knows your game.” He chuckled Frenchly.
“I am not playing any game.” Giselle looked around. How could she get away from this skunk?
“Okay. You win. We have sex now. The bathroom it is free.”
“I think you may be wrong about that,” she said, having a sudden flashback to Madam Divinity in a clinch with Kopeleski.
Vector must have seen Giselle wrinkle her nose and curl her lips. “Then we find some other place—the kitchen would be good. You do not miss the party. There are no worries. I am very fast.”
“You make it so tempting.” Her sarcasm was lost on the French skunk. He grinned in response. “No,” Giselle said. “You’re missing the point. I am not going to have sex with you in the bathroom or in the kitchen.”
“Okay, we go back to your hotel room and have the sex, yes?” Vector moved closer, into the zone of Giselle’s personal space.
She backed up. He stepped forward. She backed up again. She couldn’t think with him so close. It made her skin crawl.
“No. I don’t have a hotel room. I’m staying with someone.”
“That is okay with Vector. I am into the ménage a trois. You know, the threesome.”
“Eww.” She backed farther away. “Get away from me, you freak.”
“Attention, please.”
The chatter in
the room ceased, and the group turned en masse to look at Marissa La Bianca as she made her announcement.
“Would everyone please follow me into the courtyard outside? The Vampire Lester is ready for an audience.”
Giselle skulked behind Vector as she and the other partygoers toddled through to the hallway and out the back door of the castle. She found it difficult to hide behind the Frenchman, he was so puny, but Giselle gave it her best try. She didn’t want Marissa to see her.
“Why do you crouch back there? Are you afraid of the vampires, ma petite?” Vector said. “Do not worry. I will protect you. As long as it does not injure my hands.”
“Yeah. I know. You’re an artiste, not a soldier.”
“Oui. But the vampires they do not want to hurt you. They only want your money.”
She hoped that was true.
* * *
Light from the full moon illuminated the Vampire Lester, who stood atop a tiny stage at the center of the courtyard. He posed, swathed in a long cape, which he had drawn around himself like a black cocoon. His face had been painted white, with charcoal black around his eyes. A blood-red tear was drawn under his right eye and ran down his cheek.
He stared forward, unspeaking, until the assembly had fully gathered and quieted in front of him.
“We imagine ourselves living in a free society.” When he spoke, his voice had a low but arresting intensity. “A society of tolerance. A society of equality. A society of justice. But America is not the land of freedom, opportunity and justice for all. Once every thirty seconds a vampire suffers discrimination in this country. We have been tortured.”
Hadn’t it been every fifty seconds earlier, according to the VICTIM recording?
The dramatic silence continued for a few seconds before Lester spoke again. “There are some of the vampire race here tonight who have suffered discrimination personally. They wear the purple heart to signify their wounds.”
Giselle saw several partygoers looking around. Probably searching for purple hearts. Crap. She curled a little tighter behind Vector.
Lester continued. “Vampires are not allowed to pursue happiness with the rest of the citizens of America. We can be silent no longer. We must unite and fight.”
The crowd went silent. Lester slowly spread his arms. The cape began to open, open, open until his arms had stretched it wide, like giant bat wings on either side of Lester’s wraithlike body.