by J. Morgan
"Well, damn. You know how I feel about meeting new people,” Leopold whined.
"You meet new people every night. So, don't try to cop out with that one."
"No, I meet supper every night. These...” Leopold gestured to the mirror, “people are different. They might want to, heaven forbid, talk to me. They might even try to touch me. I can't be touched by anyone who would wear denim. That's a denim crowd, if I ever saw one."
"Get a grip, Man. They're just people. God, you'd think a vampire would be less of a psycho,” Lewis cried in frustration.
"I am not psycho. I may be a little co-dependant, but that is as far as I'm willing to admit to."
"Whatever, you're going to have to get yo’ white ass down there and do the do."
"Do you really think I can do it?” Leopold asked, his eyes burning with the need for assurance.
"Man, you got this covered. You're the baddest mo fo on the planet. These humans'll be putty in your hands,” Lewis told him, hoping his old charm was working.
"You're right. What do I have to be afraid of? I'm the lord of the undead, not them. I'll do it!” Leopold shouted, his hand pumping vigorously in the air before him. He strode toward the door confidently. He stopped just short of the door and turned back to Lewis. “You'll be watching in case I need you, right?"
"You got it, Boss Man.” Lewis shook his head in disgust.
If Leopold made it through this, it would be a miracle. If Lewis still drank, he'd be on his second fifth by now. Turning away from the door, he went back to the mirror. If nothing else, this ought to be interesting.
* * * *
Breathred was avoiding the shrimp. Anything that pink couldn't be good for you. If one more waiter tried to foist one of the little pukers on him, he looked like he would scream. He also appeared to be having serious doubts about the pigs in a blanket.
Luna saw the snarl cross Breathred's face as a waiter sauntered past him. This was not going well at all. Until this moment she never realized just how far his phobias went. Agoraphobia seemed to be the latest in the string, if you didn't count the shrimp.
Stud, on the other hand, reveled in the whole thing. After working his way through the buffet table, he hit the bar. She watched him slip the Mickey into the punch bowl before moving onto the Daiquiri machine. Luna wasn't sure if the combination was such a good idea, but was growing tired of playing nursemaid over the pair.
Given half a chance, Luna might have to rethink this whole girlfriend job. No chance of that happening. She had worked too hard to snag him in the first place, to allow him to get her goat so readily. Letting a few eccentricities get in the way wasn't her style. Breathred would just have to change, and that was that.
Breathred was talking to, what was his name again? Edmund Truehart. He was the anthropologist from Cambridge. Aboriginal culture was his specialty. He had some experience in Canadian digs. Dr. Grayson had made it a point to introduce him to Breathred.
Now, as she thought about it, it was kind of strange. It was almost like she expected them to have something in common. Breathred mumbled under his breath and walked away, as soon as he could. Luna had never known him to act like so weird. Sure you might have to listen to a two-hour discourse on Ewok culture, but he had never just walked away without even a little mention of Star Wars in general. She smelled a mystery.
Playing Velma would have to wait. Some blond floosie was angling right for him. Luna knew the type too, all boobs and mind-if-I-butt-in? Well, she wasn't having a bit of it.
"Breathred, is that you?” Luna heard the woman say from across the crowded floor.
This thing knew Breathred. Oh yes! She would look into this, and if she didn't get the right answers, somebody was going home in a body bag.
Luna cut through the crowd like a hot knife. A few of the bystanders looked at her strangely, but none were brave enough to say anything about her rudeness. College-bred people were smarter than she thought; the crowd knew a predatory woman when they saw one.
Luna snuck up behind Breathred. She came in low and slid her arm into his before he knew what was happening. Her unsuspecting boyfriend jumped at her touch. Good, let him be afraid, very afraid, she thought devilishly. The blonde raised an eyebrow but gave no other indication of her own surprise. Cold fish.
Luna gritted her teeth. “Breathy, dear. Care to introduce me to your friend?"
"Oh, Luna this is...” Breathred stumbled for a few seconds. Luna saw the confusion on his face. He kept mouthing the letter C, no J as if trying to wrap his mind around a name.
"Jessica Easily,” the blonde offered, when it became evident Breathred had forgotten his own name, as well as hers.
"I'm sure you are,” Luna hissed under her breath.
"Excuse me?” Ms. Easily asked.
Luna extended her hand. “My name is Luna Walking Batch."
"I'm sure you are."
"What the hell did you say?” This witch was one step away from one hard-assed point of no return.
"Luna! Ladies do not use that kind of language,” Breathred gasped in shock and horror.
"I'm sorry. It just, kind of slipped out,” Luna apologized, but finished to herself: like my hand is going to slip into her face.
"Well, see that it doesn't happen again."
"It won't,” she groused.
"What a delightful creature you've found yourself, Breathred,” Ms. Easily said, her voice a honey-coated indictment sent Luna seething.
"She is one of a kind. Isn't she?"
"So, how do you two know each other?” Luna asked, ready to get to the bottom of this.
"Oh, we go back, ages. Don't we, Dear?” Jessica's fake voice drove daggers through Luna's eyes.
Middle ages, Luna thought.
"If you say so,” Breathred mumbled, suddenly wanting to go home.
"We went to school together. Class of ‘92, rah, rah, rah.” Jessica broke into the lamest cheer Luna had ever heard.
Wait a minute. Breathred graduated in ‘87. What was this bitch babbling about? Luna had to get Breathred alone. He'd crack on his own, or by God she would crack him—slowly and painfully. Now, the important thing to do was to get him away from this barracuda.
Thankfully, Dr. Grayson helped her accomplish the feat by calling the crowd to order. Luna was able to lose Ms. Easily in the stampede to the raised dais that sat in the center of the ballroom. Luna gave her a snide smile as she and Breathred slid to the front of the crowd.
Dr. Grayson spoke over the hum of the assembled group. “Okay, people. It's time to meet the man responsible for all this."
"Bring him out. We need some more shrimp cocktail!” someone yelled.
"Somebody, get Rudy some coffee. I think he's had enough for the night.” Dr. Grayson laughed. “But seriously, let me hear a round of applause for the man of the hour, Leopold du Chambris Portus."
Leopold wasn't surprised to see his quarry close to the podium. He had been calling to him, since Lewis pointed the man out to him. He flashed a moderate smile to the assembly, not enough to reveal his true nature, but quite enough to endear him to them. It was the vampire's way.
He settled behind the podium, allowing time for the applause to die down to a dull whimper. Leopold realized for the most part it was forced, but accepted it all the same. After all they had come to see him.
Now as he thought about it, maybe it was a good thing Lewis hadn't done this. The last thing the young vampire needed was to think he was in charge. Lewis was in danger of assuming as much already without an audience convincing him of the fact.
Leopold paused before speaking. There was someone whispering in the back. He couldn't abide whispering. It bespoke of a poor upbringing. Worse than that, it meant someone didn't want to listen to him. To Leopold's thinking that was the most egregious of social misbehaviors to commit. He had to remember to give him a bite of his mind after tonight's proceedings.
"Well, if that wasn't the best reception I've had since the stock market shot up last quarter,” Leopold j
oked, waiting for the expected response.
The only thing the quip earned him was a twitter. A twitter—these philistines had no sense of humor whatsoever, Leopold thought. If he didn't need them, he'd kill the whole lot of them and toss them into the nearest dustbin. Teach them to not appreciate a good joke when they heard one. He'd personally stolen that one from the Trump. Bet they would have laughed, if he'd told it. Everyone laughed at The Donald, the bloated bastard. Apprentice this, you overblown peasant. But, he was getting off track.
"As Doctor Grayson may have told you, I was only too happy to finance this venture. I feel only by understanding our past can we hope to build our future."
This time the crowd did explode with genuine applause. Perhaps they weren't as bad as he first thought. In any case it bought them a reprieve. No one would die tonight, except for the damned whisperer, if he didn't shush it.
"Thank you, but my speech is far from over,” Leopold said to quiet them again. “As I said, it is a pleasure to find myself associated with someone of Dr. Grayson's renown in the academic community, as well as yourselves, whose own qualifications mark you as experts in your own rights. I hope this expedition will, at last, shed a glimmer of light on a past we can only imagine. I think you will agree this is as good a place as any to quit running off at the mouth. So, Doctor Grayson, if you will,” Leopold ended, motioning for her to take the podium.
Breathred didn't listen to what the professor had to say. He was too intent on watching Leopold. It was a dull murmur in the background. He flicked his eyes away from the vampire long enough to see Stud dumping his vamp Mickey into the punch while everyone was watching the stage. When the professor finished, Luna would call for a toast to the expedition. If Leopold was a vampire, they'd have him.
He turned back to the stage. Leopold was smiling and nodding as Dr. Grayson spoke. To Breathred he didn't look like a vampire, but he could be wrong. Breathred wished he'd remembered to put on his crucifix. Then he would have known for sure, but in the rush to leave, he had forgotten it.
"Okay, guys. Mr. Chambris Portus will be available to answer a few questions, so don't run off,” Dr. Grayson yelled, drawing a shocked stare from the man.
"I don't think I can do that,” Leopold stuttered.
"Sure, you can. I promise they don't bite.” She grinned.
But I might. Egad, there was a man in denim angling right for him. What if he somehow touched it? It led to an even bigger question. What if denim was catchy? He could see himself now, buying a pair of Calvin Klein's at some out-of-the-way outlet mall for less than retail, so that no one could see him. He shuddered. Oh no, this would not work.
He turned to make a hasty retreat. Instead, he ran straight into the virgin and his bit of fluff.
"Mr. Chambris Portus.” Breathred extended his hand. “I believe we have a lot to talk about."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Fourteen
Never confront a vampire on his home turf. He knows where the bodies are buried and where yours is going next.
Leopold drew back. This was new. Usually, he was the one saying shit like that, to coin a phrase from Lewis’ lengthy tome of colorful colloquialisms. Who was this person to talk to him in such a manner? Wait a minute, it was the lushy virgin. How nice. It was a pleasant change to have one's dinner come to him.
"Excuse me,” Leopold said, deciding to play it cool. There was no sense in showing anything more than he had to. He didn't want to see the man running across the floor. Did he?
"I'm a member of Doctor Grayson's team, and I was just wondering about a few things. I was hoping you might clarify a few points for me before we left,” Breathred said. He was hoping the dirty vamp would slip up somehow and give him a chance to take the undead fiend down right here and now. Breathred didn't think the vamp would, but you never could tell.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, uh Mr.—” Leopold was at a loss at what to do with this virgin. His instinct was to bite first and ask questions later.
He hated meeting people. They all felt you should know their names, even if you hadn't met them yet. It was as though being rich gave you omnipotence or something. If he had learned one thing over the years, it was poor people always responded favorably to the rich, unless you were taking their money. This big lug would be no different.
"Breathred Petrifunck at your service.” Breathred took his hand back after it was evident Leopold wasn't about to shake it.
"And your delightful companion?” Leopold turned toward Luna. It was best not to let him think he was the object of interest.
"Allow me to introduce Miss Luna Walking Batch."
"Ah, one of the true Americans. I have long wanted the chance to talk with one of you glorious people,” Leopold responded, enthusiastically.
"What the hell do you mean by that?” Luna snapped.
"I meant no disrespect. It is just that your culture has long been a study of mine—particularly, the medicinal practices of your shaman. It has long been a theory of mine that their so-called home remedies could hold the cure of many diseases that stump us modern scientists,” Leopold explained. The fact was he was really dying to ask her if she had ever taken a scalp, but under the circumstances it didn't seem too prudent. Maybe, right before he sacrificed her boyfriend, would be a good time.
"See, Luna. What have I told you about rush judgments? I believe you owe Mr. Leopold an apology,” Breathred lectured, like that was bloody likely.
"I'm sorry,” Luna whined, causing Breathred to raise an eyebrow. This stuffed shirt wasn't fooling anybody. He was about to ask me if I had ever taken a scalp. It was written all over his face. The French prick!
"No, the fault was all mine. You wished to ask me something, Mr. Petmyskunk?” Leopold said, turning back to Breathred. The woman was making him nervous. He couldn't help but notice the girl was still giving him the evil eye.
"That's Petrifunck,” Breathred corrected him.
"Of course it is. Now, you had some questions,” Leopold said, growing tired of this inane discourse. He could be home watching reruns of Solid Gold.
"Yes. I couldn't help but wonder why a noted doctor like yourself would be interested in an archeological dig in the middle of Canada,” Breathred stated. Let him answer that one.
"As I just said, my interest is purely scientific. Quite frankly, Doctor Grayson's paper fascinated me. I could say there was a medicinal side to this obsession, but there isn't. The chance to actually be a part of something this unusual was too tempting to pass up,” Leopold said. Now, the dweeb wanted to play twenty questions. He was over three hundreds years old; he shouldn't have to put up with this crap.
"So, you believe the tablet is correct?” Luna asked.
"Ms. Walking Batch, do you take me for a fool? Vampire queens are the stuff of popular fiction. They have no place in science, but the fact the myth presented on the tablet is so old is startling, don't you think?” Leopold asked. Now, the girl was getting in on the action. That's all he needed, a woman with an attitude.
"I find it hard to believe a man in your power bracket would risk money on something this speculative, if he couldn't see a payoff in it somewhere,” Luna stated, firmly.
"Of course there's a payoff. My stockholder's would flay me alive if there wasn't. The publicity alone will bring in millions, plus if the dig is indeed successful, I own the rights. I have already brokered several deals, including one with the Discovery Channel. So, as you see, it's a win/win situation.” Leopold smiled. That was it. If he didn't get the hell away from them, somebody was going to die, sacrifice or not. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I must have a word with Doctor Grayson."
They watched him leave. Luna found it funny Jessica Easily intercepted the vampire before he had a chance to make it to the professor. No doubt she would try to monopolize the rest of his evening. She looked the type to hone in on the slightest hint of fresh money, or old money, for that matter.
"So, what do you think? Is he a vamp?” Luna asked,
turning back to Breathred.
Dr. Truehart angled past them. “I wouldn't bet against him being one, if that tells you anything,” Breathred whispered. He watched the man squeeze himself between Jessica and Leopold. Good luck, buddy, Breathred thought without a trace of humor. “I think you should make the toast, just to be sure."
"Too late,” she said, pointing to the banquet table.
Breathred looked up to see a wobbly Stud flitting across the table a bowl full of shrimp cocktail perched gaily atop his furry head. If Breathred wasn't mistaken, he was singing the chorus from I'm Henry the Eight, I Am. Doggone it, he should have been watching the chimp. No, that wasn't right either, he should have left him at the house, preferably with a straitjacket wrapped around his furry little body. Breathred should have known an open bar was an invitation for disaster.
Breathred dashed toward Stud. He hadn't made it three steps when Stud toppled over—as luck would have it—right into the punch bowl. A tidal wave of red rain with assorted fruit chunks flew into the air. Breathred stopped in his tracks. Luna slammed into him, but he didn't even notice.
How could he be so stupid as too actually think the monkey could be trusted to behave like a ... a human? Now, all their carefully laid plans were ruined. All because Stud couldn't handle a few dozen banana daiquiris. Well, you'd better believe he could kiss watching Animal Planet good-bye when they got home.
People massed around the table. Breathred had to push his way past them to get to Stud. Everyone loves an accident, he reckoned as he at last made it through the gawkers. By that time, the punch had soaked into the carpet, leaving one drenched monkey in its wake. As close to swearing as he had ever been, Breathred sank to the floor in disgust well short of the wreckage. What were they going to do now?
Luna made it to the table, soon after. She ruffled Breathred's hair and kept on walking. She didn't stop until she stood directly in front of Stud. Stud wiggled his nose and gave her a drunken grin. Her pinched look sobered the grin straight from his face. He reached up and removed the crown of shrimp from his head.
"Uh, hey Luna,” he sputtered.