Suck It Up

by Brian Meehl

  Penny crossed her arms. “Okay, that eliminates the sleepwalking excuse. Go on.”

  “I couldn’t sleep because when I was talking to Morning this afternoon, there was a moment when he looked at me like he hated me. Like he hated us. It kept bugging me and kept me awake. It bothered me so much I came to ask him about it.”

  Penny’s eyes narrowed with doubt, and curiosity. “And what did he say?”

  Up to this point, Portia had told the unvarnished truth. But since she had never gotten the chance to ask Morning the question that was bugging her, the answer didn’t exist. She swallowed as her mother, and Morning, waited. If she was ever going to get more footage of him, if they were ever going to lock fingers again, she couldn’t tell about the staking.

  As she floundered for a credible answer, she remembered something Morning had said. Nothing ever changes. The way he said it, with a bitter edge, darted through her. She glanced down and caught his eyes fixed on her. They were more than eyes. They looked like pools she could dive into, beckoning waters pulling her back into the underground river. She didn’t need to dive. The sensation that moved through her made her feel as if she were already there, submerged in the currents of his mind. She had never believed in mind reading. Until now. She felt like she was swimming with his deepest thoughts. And there, lying like a dark stone in clear water, was the answer to her mother’s question: Nothing ever changes.

  She cleared her throat and told the lie that felt like the truth. “When I asked him about his nasty look, he told me it wasn’t hatred. It was envy.”

  The word plunged through Morning. How did she know that?

  Penny tilted her head. “Envy of what?”

  Portia remained locked on his eyes even though they’d grown cloudy. It didn’t matter. She’d seen what she needed to see. She hoped she wouldn’t hurt his feelings. “Envy of growing up,” she said. “He said that when he looked at me like that, he was seeing me as an adult, all grown up.” She broke away and turned to her mother. “He was mad at me for leaving him behind.”

  Although his insides churned, Morning refused to let one ripple of emotion escape.

  Penny stared down at him. “Is that true?”

  He covered the storm under his skin with a shrug. “Pretty much.” Then he tried to push it deeper with a joke. “Immortality ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.”

  They laughed, breaking the tension.

  He pulled the sheet up to his chin. “Now, can I get some sleep?”

  Penny guided Portia to the door. “Absolutely. And maybe you should lock your door to protect yourself from prying mortals.”

  Portia turned back with a smile. “Good night, Morning.” As the door swung shut, she let out a giddy laugh and repeated it. “Good night, Morning.”

  He closed his eyes and tried to still the two emotions thrashing inside him: terror that she had unearthed a vampire’s darkest secret—envy—and thrumming excitement over the memory of holding her hand. The coil of feelings spun through him, a tightening vortex that rushed to one place—his mouth—where all sensation poured into the twin throbs beneath his upper lip. The place where peril and pleasure melded into one.

  His eyes shot open. He shook his head, casting off the sensation. The pulse disappeared, but not the truth impaling his mind. Portia was right. He had fallen in envy.

  27

  A Visit from the Boss

  After DeThanatos extracted the Croquet Killer from Morning’s room and hauled him to the roof like a yo-yo, the vampire barely stopped himself from tapping Golpear for five quarts and tossing the empty off the roof. Instead, he ordered him back to Merder Sink and told him to wait for further instructions. DeThanatos then fogged his way into the sitting room and went through Penny’s briefcase until he found the information he needed.

  An hour before sunrise, DeThanatos reappeared at Merder Sink driving a rental truck. He woke the sleeping hit man, instructed him to drive the truck to Las Vegas that afternoon, handed him a ticket to a concert at the Volcano, and told him that Morning would be introducing Lycanthrope, the most revered death metal band in the world.

  “Are you going to be there?” Golpear asked.

  “Of course,” DeThanatos answered.

  “Then why aren’t you coming with me?”

  DeThanatos spread his arms, displaying his robe. “I’m a friar. I have a day job. I’ll fly out later.”

  When the sunshine flooding through the window woke Morning, he thought it might have been a dream. Then he felt the wooden stake resting against his leg.

  He pulled it from under the sheet, jumped out of bed, and found his cell phone. He speed-dialed Birnam’s number and got his voice mail. “Did you have a nice night, Mr. Birnam? Mine was pretty good until I got staked!”

  After slapping the phone shut, he threw on a fresh T-shirt and jeans and went into the sitting room. Penny and Portia were gone. He found a note. They were having breakfast downstairs in the restaurant. The note instructed him to get ready to leave for Las Vegas.

  As he showered, he wondered what he should do with the stake. Leave it? Hide it? Take it? He decided to keep it. It might make a funny gift for Portia someday. That is, if he could remember his basic bloodlust-management skills, keep his urges in check, and not jump her veins.

  He packed and took his bag to the sitting room as Penny and Portia came through the door. He immediately went into envy-management mode, and practiced strategy number one: Don’t look at the object of envy; seeing is desiring. Not sure if this included using peripheral vision, he saw just enough to catch Portia retreating to her room. Penny instructed him to go up to the helipad ahead of them. They had to finish packing and would be coming shortly.

  When Morning stepped onto the helipad, he thought the waiting helicopter looked familiar. As he approached the chopper’s glass bubble, the sight of Birnam at the controls caught him by surprise. “That was fast.”

  Birnam greeted him with a warm smile. “I try to stay close, in case of an emergency.”

  “Like getting staked.”

  “Right.” Birnam waved him into the copilot’s seat. “Get in, we need to talk.”

  Duh, Morning mouthed as he stowed his backpack and drink case in the back. He climbed in, and Birnam began firing up the chopper. “What about Penny and Portia?”

  “They’re going by car,” Birnam shouted over the rising whine of the rotors. He signaled for Morning to put on his headset.

  He threw it on. “Where are we going?”

  Birnam’s voice crackled through the headset as the skids lifted off the helipad. “To Santa Monica Airport, and then you’ll all fly to Vegas.”

  Morning secured his shoulder harness as Birnam tilted the stick. The chopper plowed forward. He didn’t want to look as the helipad slid under them. As they flew over the building’s edge, the ground went one direction, plunging to the street far below, and Morning’s stomach went the other, delivering a heaving uppercut. He pushed his stomach back down while the chopper rose over Beverly Hills.

  Birnam’s voice came through his headset. “Obviously, this vampire slayer wannabe is a Lifer who doesn’t know what he’s doing. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

  Morning couldn’t believe how casual Birnam sounded, like all he’d gotten was a bad haircut. “I still ended up with a croquet stake in my chest!”

  “A croquet stake?”

  “Yeah!”

  Birnam repressed a smile. “Wow, he really is an amateur.”

  “Amateur or not, what are you gonna do about it?”

  Birnam pulled up a box from beside his seat and handed it to Morning. “In case this wannabe does his research and discovers the correct impaling wood, I brought you a present.”

  Morning opened the box and stared down at a white vest. It was made of a tightly woven material that looked like cotton candy pressed flat. “What is it?”

  “A stake-proof vest. Our scientists have been working on it for some time.”

  He lifted it f
rom the box. It was amazingly light.

  “It’s made from one of the strongest materials in the world,” Birnam added. “Spider silk.”

  To Morning it looked about as sturdy as a place mat. “Spider silk is going to protect me from a stake?”

  Birnam reached into his jacket, pulled out a switchblade, flicked it open, and tried to plunge it into his own chest. The knife tip only got through his shirt. Morning stared in amazement. To drive the point home that a stake-proof vest was the ultimate defense against any point being driven home, Birnam stabbed himself several more times. “Impenetrable,” he said with a smile.

  Morning held up the vest. “Will it stop a bullet?”

  “Yes. But it’s not as strong as Unus the Untouchable’s force field in X-Men.”

  Morning was impressed by the demonstration, and by Birnam’s knowledge of supervillains, but it didn’t make him feel better. “Great, now I’m the first ambassador to Lifers and the crash-test dummy for stake-proof vests.”

  Birnam chuckled, then called in their landing to the Santa Monica tower. “I can’t give you bodyguards, Morning, but I can help you defend yourself. Wear the vest whenever you don’t have a CD planned.”

  “Why can’t I wear it all the time?”

  “It’s not Epidex, it won’t CD with you. I don’t want you leaving it lying around for the taking. It’s too early to start giving away our scientific secrets to Loners.”

  Morning shook his head with disdain. “Meaning, giving them me is enough for now.”

  Birnam’s eyes darted between the instruments and the field as they began their descent. “Basically, yes.”

  The chopper landed near a private jet. The jet’s nose was painted with a ferocious wolf head and the name of the infamous death metal band Lycanthrope. They had sent their jet to bring Morning to their concert that night in Las Vegas.

  The rotors wound down and Morning and Birnam pulled off their headsets. As Morning stuffed the vest in his backpack, Birnam turned to him. “What you need to remember most is that surviving slayers and the pitfalls of instant fame isn’t your ultimate test.”

  “Oh yeah, what is?”

  “Portia.”

  Morning huffed with exasperation. “I told you everything’s cool. I mean, she’s making this documentary on me, and I just want to help her out.”

  Birnam’s gaze never wavered. “Is that all you want?”

  Morning flushed as he wondered if Birnam had bugged his room, or had snuck in as some tiny creature and seen them holding hands. “If you’re so worried about it, why don’t you have Penny send her home?”

  “Sending away an object of craving doesn’t eliminate the craving. It might even strengthen it.”

  “Whatever,” Morning sulked. “There’s nothing going on.”

  An understanding smile invaded Birnam’s somber expression. “Spoken like a teenager.”

  “Really, Mr. Birnam. It’s nothing.”

  “It’s nothing you haven’t been trained to control. Need I remind you why it’s so important?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Whether Lifers accept us or not boils down to one test: How we treat their daughters. That’s why Portia stays. To tempt you.”

  Morning went back to playing dumb. “Tempt me to do what?”

  “To drink from the forbidden well.”

  He squirmed in his seat. He felt like he was having the dreaded sex talk with a parent. The one that’s so gross because talking to them about sex makes you imagine them having sex. Despite the ick factor, he knew the topic had become unavoidable. “So what happens if I do, you know, get tempted?”

  Birnam’s eyes hardened. “You’ll fall into drunken bloodlust, feed on Portia, and destroy all hope for people of mortality ever accepting us as people of peace.”

  Morning wanted to come back with a sarcastic Oh, is that all? But he kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t like Birnam was making it up. Last night, the siren’s whisper had called from the forbidden well. The voice had been Portia’s.

  “But nothing like that is going to happen,” Birnam said, shifting to upbeat and patting him on the knee. “Because I picked the right vampire for the job.”

  A sound pulled Morning from his worries. He spotted a black limo coming across the tarmac.

  Birnam saw it too and spoke quickly. “I want you to go ahead and tell Portia and Penny about the IVL and our hopes for Worldwide Out Day. But don’t reveal locations, and absolutely nothing about the Mother Forest.”

  The request caught him by surprise. “Why now?”

  “It’s time to turn another page in the playbook.” Birnam tossed him an encouraging smile. “Now go, before Portia gets here. I’m not ready for my close-up with Ms. Spielberg.”

  28

  To Vegas

  A rental truck rode a ribbon of highway through the Mojave Desert. Golpear was at the wheel. His eyes fixed on the sliver of shimmering mercury in the distance. In a few hours, Las Vegas would rise out of the mirage. This much he knew.

  What he didn’t know was what the truck was hauling. DeThanatos had told him it was the equipment he would need to finish Morning off after he had been impaled with the right stake, not a croquet post. Golpear hadn’t seen the equipment. The back of the truck was locked and DeThanatos had the key.

  Golpear was also unaware that he was more than a driver. He was a chauffeur. In the back, sleeping peacefully, was DeThanatos.

  Before Portia followed her mother out of the limo and saw Morning for the first time since the night before, she took a moment. She raced through the strategy she had devised after she’d woken up to a thrilling, terrifying, and troubling fact. Her little after-staking handhold with Morning had nudged her swoon meter into the red zone. But it was going to be okay, because her morning-after-Morning plan rested on four solid legs.

  (1) Forget about asking, What would Christiane do? Or even calling her and asking, “When you’re on assignment, in the middle of the biggest story of your life, how do you handle falling for a guy?” Morning wasn’t a guy-guy, he was a vampire-guy.

  (2) Rewrite your guy credo. Assume the worst was still in play—more than ever—but the disastrous consequence of getting starry-eyed and slipping into assume the best had radically changed. Now it read: one minute you’re young, vivacious, got a career on cruise control, then bam!—some vampire grabs your hand and yanks you into the underground river of ecstasy, and the next thing you know you bob to the surface as a bloodless corpse, some guy hauls you into a police boat with a pole, and they’re all staring at you thinking the same thing. A young girl’s tragic end always begins with the same choice: thong underwear.

  (3) Play the dead hand. Not the literal dead hand. Play the dead hand of pretending nothing earthshaking has happened, and everything has defaulted to how it was before you dove into Morning’s eyes and swam with the fishes of his deepest thoughts.

  (4) The most important leg of your strategy. Hide behind your camera. No, that wasn’t how you put it this morning in bed. Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor fang of vampire will stop this director from swift completion of her cinematic quest! Yes, that was it.

  Fortunately, when Portia emerged from the limo, recording on her Handycam, Morning had already boarded the jet. “B roll,” she muttered as she grabbed a shot of the wolf painted on the jet, and made sure that if he was looking out the window it looked like she knew what she was doing.

  Events continued to cooperate with her new strategy after she boarded the jet. Before takeoff, she exchanged a noncommittal “Hey” with Morning. Then, after reaching cruising altitude, an amazing thing happened. He actually asked her to fire up her camera.

  As instructed, Morning told Penny and Portia about the International Vampire League, and Birnam’s dream of Leaguer vampires living peacefully and openly among Lifers. During his account he continued to follow standard bloodlust-management procedure, and focused his attention on Penny rather than Portia.

  His revelations led mother and daughter to a few of their o
wn. Penny now understood why Birnam was paying her so much money and giving her an unlimited expense account. Vampire Morning was just the test model for a much bigger rollout. Portia, having added another cinematic gem to what was becoming the documentary of the century, was convinced she could skip film school altogether and go straight to Hollywood. She was also thrilled to learn that her star was far more than a bumbling vampire who’d stumbled out of the woodwork. He was history in the making. He was what Cortés was to Mexico, what Christopher Columbus was to America. The insight even inspired a new film title. Morning McCobb: The Jackie Robinson of the Vampire League.

  After Morning divulged the bullet points on the IVL and the Leaguer Way, Portia fought off the urge to hit him with a million questions, and retreated to the middle of the cabin. She wrapped herself in the audio cocoon of her iPod, and the satisfaction that her morning-after plan was working flawlessly.

  While Penny was duly impressed by Birnam’s dream of Worldwide Out Day, she had more immediate concerns. Like briefing Morning on his next appearance.

  She didn’t get far before Morning interrupted. “I don’t get it. Why are we going from The Night-Night Show, with a gazillion viewers, to kicking off a death metal concert? It feels like a huge step backward.”

  Penny eyed him over her reading glasses. “That’s what most people don’t understand about creating a megastar. It’s not about the size of the audience, it’s about covering all the demographic bases.”

  “What’s a demographic base?”

  “A type of audience. I put you on Wake Up America to expose you to the nine-to-five niche and the senior set. I put you on The Night-Night Show for the thirty-and forty-somethings. You’re opening for Lycanthrope, and appearing in the HBO film of the concert, for the under-twenty-fivers.”

  Morning ran a hand through his hair. “How many more of these things do I have to do?”

  “That’s up to Birnam. Right now, my job is to stretch your fifteen minutes of fame to twenty-four/seven until he tells me otherwise. And I’m sure he’d approve of you opening for Lycanthrope.”