Uncle Mortie smiles like he’s got a secret. But Aubrey doesn’t seem to notice, and George is just repeating, “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” over and over with a crazy grin on his face. Who the heck is this woman?
I’m sure I’ll look like a total idiot for not knowing, but I ask Uncle Mortie anyway. It’s not like I can go meet someone when I have no idea who she is.
“You’ve never read her books?” asks Uncle Mortie. Ah, so she’s an author.
“What does she write?”
“Just some of the best vampire fiction ever!” George is practically jumping up and down. “I’ve read all of her books! I can’t believe you’ve never read her! She’s great!”
I have to grin; he’s like a little kid pumped full of sugar or something. “I’m not really into horror novels,” I explain. “I’m more of a mystery reader.” Of course, I throw in an occasional romance novel too. I am a girl, after all.
“Harriet Melman inspired me to become a vampire,” says Aubrey in a hushed, reverent tone. “I started reading her books when I was ten. I can’t believe I’m going to meet her!” Oh yeah, that’s where I heard the name before. When Aubrey was over for dinner sucking up to my parents. Heh. If Uncle Mortie’s not careful, he’s liable to get a group hug from the Harriet Melman fan society here. Aubrey practically has stars in his eyes.
“She lives just around the block,” says Uncle Mortie. “I thought we’d just walk over.” The guys jump up, practically knocking over the table in their rush to get to the door, completely leaving behind their half-empty coffee cups. I follow behind. I guess I’m just not all that excitable. I can’t imagine getting that worked up about an author. Okay, maybe if we were going to meet Christian Bale or something.
Aubrey asks, “Does she really keep a boa constrictor?”
“She’s got quite a few snakes,” says Uncle Mortie.
“Is she really over six feet tall?”
“No, not quite.”
“Does she really wear a purple turban?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does she—”
“Okay, we’re here!” Uncle Mortie interrupts with more than a little relief.
After the little impromptu Q&A session, I’m not sure what type of place I was expecting, but definitely something with more character than where we wind up. It looks just like every other house on the block.
Before Uncle Mortie can knock on the door, it swings open, reminding me of the blood bar. And behind it … the strangest looking person I’ve ever seen in my entire life, including the muscle-bound guy I once saw on the beach who had painted himself orange and was wearing a fez like you see on those guys in parades.
Harriet Melman isn’t quite six feet, but she’s definitely tall, and so thin that it makes her look even taller. She’s wearing a humongous billowy purple dress that you can practically see through (that’s how I could tell she’s thin). Her hair is kind of pumpkin colored and sticking straight up on her head, like in cartoons when the character sticks his finger in a light socket. Her eyes are the weirdest thing, being almost violet colored (some funky contacts maybe?) and perfectly almond shaped. She’s holding some kind of hairless animal (I have no idea what it is, but it is desperately ugly) and waving at us with her free hand (her three-inch long nails are painted black).
“Come in, come in,” she purrs, and we all troop in, completely silent. I mean, what can you say to someone who looks like that? And talks like that. Are all authors this whacked?
Uncle Mortie smiles at her, ever the charmer, and kisses her hand. “Good to see you again, Harriet,” he says. “This is my niece, Mina, and these are her friends George and Aubrey.”
She smiles at us (Are her teeth pointed, or is that just my imagination?) and I give a little half curtsy. No way am I kissing her hand. George goes for a Japanese-style bow and Aubrey gives a little excited wave.
She puts down the hairless thing (what is that?), and it scampers off into the nether reaches of the house. I rip my eyes off of her and take my first real look at the place. If the outside was plain vanilla, the inside is somewhere between seventies T.V.-style and the Matrix. There’s crap everywhere.
She motions us to follow her down a dark hallway and we wind up in a circular room crammed full of even more stuff, including a coffin standing upright behind a couch. I opt for a perch on a leather chair with claw feet on the opposite side of the room from the coffin. Uncle Mortie sinks down into an overstuffed love-seat. George nearly disappears into a bean bag-type thing, and Aubrey sits daintily on the very edge of a rickety wooden chair that promptly collapses and dumps him on the floor. He doesn’t get up (probably too embarrassed; I know I would be) and Harriet doesn’t even seem to notice.
I think I’ve officially marked off “author” from my possible career choices. I could never be this weird. I may be a little odd, but I have never, ever seen anything like this. I wish Serena were here. She would be totally freaking.
“Would you care for something cold and refreshing?” I see Uncle Mortie give a quick shake of the head from the corner of my eye.
“No, thank you,” I say before George or Aubrey can butt in. I’ll trust Uncle Mortie on this one. He never turns down food without a good reason. “We just had some coffee.”
She nods regally. “Lovely invention, coffee.”
“Uh, yeah.”
Dead silence as she sits and smiles at us.
“So,” says Uncle Mortie, “Mina and the guys here are trying to decide whether or not to turn. I thought they might get a different perspective on things from you.”
“Oh, definitely.” She coos. “Not that I have anything against vampires, but I just don’t see the point.”
It takes a second for that to sink in for all of us and, quite frankly, I feel nothing but relief that she’s not a vampire. This woman puts the freak into freakazoid. Aubrey, on the other hand, looks completely stunned.
“You’re not … ?”
“Oh no,” she says. “Silly boy.”
“But, I thought … ”
“I just write about them. Silly creatures.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “Vampires are so tame now. All that talk about blood, blood, blood, but they’ve all forgotten about the thrill of the chase.”
I raise my eyebrow at Uncle Mortie. So much for the whole Council edict about not letting outsiders in. Does anyone pay any attention to it? He just smiles at me.
“I suppose you could call me the unofficial advertising arm of the Vampire Clans. At least, for anyone crazy enough to believe the stuff I write.” She laughs and Aubrey turns a nice healthy shade of red.
“So The Council knows you know about them then?” asks George.
“Oh, yes. They even periodically tell me some of the more interesting goings-on to try to get me to write about them. But it’s usually much too boring to use. My books have to have drama! Suspense! Danger! Intrigue!”
Major freak alert. Harriet punctuates each word with a little jump and wiggle. Can you say weirdo? I just might have to pick up one of her books to see what all the Drama! Suspense! and Danger! is about.
George perseveres. “But I thought that The Council really didn’t want to let any humans in on things and Ms. Riley specifically said they weren’t exactly wanting to ‘advertise’ that vampires exist.”
“Well, of course that’s the official line. I happen to know that there are a few writers of vampire fiction that are in the know. And, of course, one particular one that is a vampire. But we don’t talk about her.” She sniffs. Hmmm. Must be her big competition.
“Why not?” Man, George is a total bloodhound.
She leans in close like she’s about to impart something really momentous. “Because she’s so boring, my dear. Always going on and on about the silliest things. B negative this, bad sunburns there, et cetera, et cetera.” I can’t help but laugh.
Aubrey finally spits out a question. “But what about all the stories you’ve written? I thought for sure
that … that … ” He trails off, doubtless remembering what she’d just said about the kind of people that would believe in the stuff she writes.
“Poor dear.” She pats him on the head. “It’s all just make-believe. You’ll never find real life in a book.”
George asks her some more questions about her books and characters while Aubrey sits there dead silent, looking like a little kid who’s had his ice cream stolen. After a while, Uncle Mortie decides we’ve had enough adventure for one day and gives Harriet a friendly hug. Way closer than I would have gotten.
“It was lovely to see you again,” he says, and she smiles at him playfully.
“Come again,” she purrs to Uncle Mortie. I guess he’s turned on the charm for her before. I wonder how they met. On second thought, I don’t think I want to know.
“Uncle Mortie,” I say as soon as we get outside, and punch him in the arm. “That was a dirty trick. You know we all thought she was a vampire.”
He laughs. “I never said she was.”
“I’ve gotta go,” says Aubrey, and takes off at a near-run. We all look after him and allow ourselves a hearty laugh once he’s out of earshot.
“I thought he was going to pee himself!”
“Maybe he did. Maybe that’s why he had to go so fast.” I know, I know, it’s horrible. But we all had another good laugh at Aubrey’s expense. I’m not sure what I ever saw in him. (Okay, that’s a lie. The boy is hotter than hot.)
“So,” I ask Uncle Mortie when we can talk again, “what exactly was the point of that?”
“I’m being a good sponsor,” he says with a big grin. “Just trying to show you what all your options are. And teaching you not to believe everything you read.”
I snort. “Options? Okay, let’s see … ” I tick them off on my fingers: “We can stay human with some or all of our memories erased or become a blood-sucking vampire and live forever. Hmmm.”
George’s radar goes off. “What’s that about memory?”
“Oh, Uncle Mortie told me what they do to you if you decide not to turn after going through all the information sessions. They ‘try’ to erase all the vampire bits so you don’t remember.”
“Try?”
“Yeah, that’s what he said.”
“Really, kids,” says Uncle Mortie. “I understand it’s pretty foolproof. Not that I want to try it out. But I’ve never heard of any problems with it.”
“Probably because anybody that had a problem with it can’t remember anything.” I point out. Foolproof. Hah. Foolproof for the Vampire Goon Squad.
“True,” says Uncle Mortie, which doesn’t really make me feel any better. That’s another way that he’s not like most adults. He won’t tell you something just to make you feel better. That’s mostly good now, but it really sucked when I was five and still wanted to believe in the tooth fairy.
“Well,” says George, “I better go. I need to go to work. But thanks for a really, uh … ”
“—Interesting time!” I chime in with him. He gives me a shoulder squeeze and takes off.
“Nice guy,” says Uncle Mortie.
“Yeah. I told you you’d like him.”
“Much better than that wussy Aubrey kid. I don’t know what you see in him.”
I just nod. Better not to get into that kind of discussion with my uncle. I can just picture myself trying to explain why Aubrey’s tight butt and soulful eyes were attractive to me. No way.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Huh?” What problem? I swear, the man likes to talk in riddles sometimes.
“Why aren’t you going out with George? I can tell you’re over the other kid, thank God.”
Uh, hello? Just because you’re related to someone does not make it automatically okay to comment on her social life. Really.
“Because.”
“Because what?” Obviously Uncle Mortie isn’t taking the hint.
“Well, if you must know, I’m kind of seeing this guy Nathan at school. And I think Serena likes George. I’m going to fix them up. And I don’t really think of George in that way. You know.”
“Right,” says Uncle Mortie, but he doesn’t look convinced. What is it with people?
I decide it is well past time to change the subject. “So, the guys are gone now, are you finally going to tell me how you got turned?”
He sighs. Yeah, yeah, life is so hard. I give him a poke in his belly.
“All right. How about we go sit over in the park and I’ll give you all the juicy details.”
We settle into a bench and make sure no one is around to hear anything, being good little Council-abiding vampire citizens. Whatever. As far as I can tell, there’s probably only like three people in town who don’t know.
“It’s not really that exciting of a story. Most of the details you know are true. I was out peddling vacuums and knocked on a door and met a woman. Her name is Madeleine.” He pulls a grainy, dogeared picture from his wallet. It’s a picture of him leaning against his same old yellow Cadillac and a tiny little blonde woman standing next to him. They’re both smiling big, wide happy smiles. She’s pretty, with that whole vampire-glow, but not earth-shatteringly beautiful or anything. But I can see that she would have been a catch for Uncle Mortie back in the day.
“However, she didn’t turn me right away, like you’ve probably always heard. She kept me for a few months.”
“Kept you? Why? What for?”
“I was her love slave.”
Uncle Mortie? A love slave? I stifle a laugh. I would never have imagined hearing that phrase in conjunction with my uncle. I mean, Uncle Mortie? He’s not horrifically ugly or anything, but he’s not exactly love-slave material, if you know what I mean. He’s years older than my dad and looked then pretty much like he looks now—kinda balding, a bit of a pot belly, round face like Buddha or that Burger Boy restaurant guy. He’s no Brad Pitt. Shoot, he’s not even George Clooney. Turning helped things a bit, but he didn’t have all that much to work with.
“Not all vampires toe the Council line when it comes to treatment of humans. There are groups that think humans should serve vampires, and we should be able to do whatever we want to with them. Madeleine is in that group, though she doesn’t advocate violence, which was lucky for me.”
Uncle Mortie puts the picture away and stares off into the distance. I decide not to interrupt with any snarky comments.
“I stayed with her for a while after she decided to turn me, and then I ran into your dad sort of by accident. He managed to snap me out of the spell I was in. Madeleine had a talent for mind control.” He turns and looks me in the eye. “Don’t ever think this vampire business isn’t serious stuff. I know some of it seems a little silly and mundane sometimes, but there’s a lot of history going back. Unscrupulous vampires can and do manipulate people all the time.”
I nod without saying anything. Uncle Mortie sounds like he’s on a roll, and I don’t want to interrupt. Maybe he’ll let loose on something really juicy. Of course, he did just tell me he was a love slave, but that’s almost more gross than juicy.
“Before the early 1800s, there was no system of Councils. Everything was divided by clan and disputes often were ugly and vicious. It got to the point that vampires were in some danger of becoming extinct. Or at least quite rare. They were much more apt to kill humans and one another than to try and convert someone or get along. You’ve heard of Jack the Ripper?”
I nod again. Who hasn’t heard of Jack the Ripper?
“Well, he was actually a fellow named James Maybrick and he was a vampire. That’s the kind of attitude that prevailed back then. Vampires were their own worst enemies.”
“Didn’t he just disappear?”
“Not exactly. He was killed by fellow vampires afraid that he was becoming too obvious. That was around the time that the Councils started forming. A small group of vampires sought to bring some order to all of the bloodshed.”
“So there’s more than one Council?”
&n
bsp; “Of course. There’s The Northwest Regional Vampire Council that you’re familiar with. Then the Northeast, Southwest, and Southeast in the rest of the United States. Then a bunch in Europe, Asia, Latin America—there’s a Council for every area, basically. And then The Global Council. They rule over all the other Councils.”
Blech. This is sounding way too much like that Government class I had to take back in the ninth grade. Bo-ring with a capital B. I figure I better redirect if I want to hear anything interesting.
“So, did you ever see Madeleine again?”
Uncle Mortie laughs so loud that a squirrel poking around nearby goes bounding off. “That’s my girl,” he says. “Forget the history and go for the spicy stuff.” I smile a little sheepishly at him. I guess I need to work on not being quite so obvious.
“I’ve seen her once or twice at some vampire gatherings, but I’ve never really talked to her again. Afraid to, really. I thought I was really in love with her, but now I know better. I don’t want to fall into that kind of trance again.”
“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me the whole story before? It’s not that bad. It’s not like you went on some killing spree or something like that.”
“Well, I guess your parents just didn’t want you to know before about the bad apples out there. And there is one more bit to the story. Your dad’s conversion was kind of by accident. I’m not proud of it, but when he first pulled me away from Madeleine, I didn’t hardly know who I was or where I was or anything. I bit him while he was trying to help me. And then your mom converted to be with him after she had you, but of course we couldn’t convert you—you were a cute baby, but you wouldn’t have wanted to be baby-shaped all your life, I imagine.”
“Uh, no. Thanks for that.”
“We stayed under The Council’s radar for some time, otherwise I don’t know what would have happened. They didn’t learn about me until about twelve years ago and then your mom and dad were found out a couple of years after that. I’m afraid that was kind of my fault again. Your parents used a vampire contact of mine as a Realtor. He’d helped me get a deal on my house, and I’d thought he was a good guy. It turns out he turned your parents in when they didn’t have the proper ID. Luckily, you were visiting your grandma at the time and we felt it best not to mention you. Let’s just say that The Council wasn’t real happy with any of us.
Sucks to Be Me: The All-True Confessions of Mina Hamilton, Teen Vampire (maybe) Page 14