by Brian Meehl
After Penny held the news conference, and ducked a barrage of questions, Birnam offered her a full-time position with the IVL as they continued their march toward Worldwide Out Day. She appreciated his lucrative offer, and told him that handling the first outed vampire had been the experience of a lifetime.
“However,” she said candidly, “while I can handle being around one or two vampires, being surrounded by them every day would push my comfort zone.”
“How about giving it a try for one night?” Birnam asked. He continued off her puzzled look. “Tonight, when we air the commercial for IVLeague.us, and launch the website, we’re throwing a huge party. You and Portia should be there.”
She arched an eyebrow. “And where is there?”
He grinned. “You don’t want to know. But I’ll fly you and Portia to the party, then back to Vegas tonight.”
Late that afternoon, Birnam piloted his helicopter toward a crimson sun sinking in the White Mountains of California. Morning sat in the copilot’s seat. Penny and Portia sat behind them. They both wore blindfolds.
Portia was dying to sneak a peek to see what they were flying over, but she suppressed the urge. It wasn’t because she had promised her mother not to cheat, it was because she had asked herself, What would Christiane do? The answer was obvious. If by not peeking you earned trust points with the president of the IVL, and became the first Lifer to see the secret school where Leaguer vampires were trained, you didn’t peek or even open your eyes under the blindfold.
Not cheating benefited her in one other way. She didn’t have to stare at the back of Morning’s head and try to imagine what he was thinking. The irony didn’t escape her. After turning him into a blood twin, his mind had become unreadable, a foggy mirror. But there was reason for hope. A day had passed since he had gone from ash to a-hole. Maybe his DNA would start reasserting itself and he’d go back to being the old Morning.
Her stomach lurched as the helicopter made a sharp descent. After the chopper landed, Birnam told them to remove their blindfolds.
Portia and Penny found themselves on the dusty street of a ghost town, in the deep shadow of a mountain. Half of the rickety buildings clung to the rocky mountainside. The most unusual sight was the greenish glow of solar lights puncturing the dusk.
As they exited the chopper, Birnam told Morning to grab their guests’ garment bag and asked the ladies to follow him.
Morning grumbled as he hauled the bag out of the back. He didn’t like being reduced to a bellhop, and he didn’t understand why someone wasn’t there to meet them. The oversight heightened the agitated mood he’d been in since waking up that afternoon. He didn’t know if it was the jangles that sometimes came from too much sleep, or some kind of hangover from roast-beef blood, but he felt like nails ran through his veins. Following the trio, he carried the bag into a dilapidated hotel jutting from the mountainside.
The hotel lobby was carpeted with wall-to-wall dust. It softened the thud of their footsteps. The only light came from a flickering chandelier that looked more like a giant firefly caught in a ceiling of cobwebs.
“Welcome to Leaguer Mountain,” Birnam announced.
From the second they entered, Portia sensed her mother’s rising hackles. She tried to defuse them. “Hey, if you’ve seen one party house, you’ve seen ’em all.”
Birnam’s easy laughter filled the room. It even got a chuckle from Morning. Portia gave him a relieved look. So there was one good thing about having a blood double: he was a sucker for your jokes.
Birnam raised a remote and hit a button. The hotel desk, and the wall behind it, swung open, revealing a modern lobby, brightly lit and sparkling with polished stone. “The Leaguer Mountain Guesthouse,” he announced.
Penny’s doubts melted away—at least the ones about Birnam’s sense of style.
Birnam led them into the lobby.
Morning noticed that the guest room doors seemed to lead deeper into the mountain. But he couldn’t remember anything inside the mountain that could have been the back of the guesthouse. “How long has this been here?”
“A few years.” Birnam pulled a key card from his pocket. “I’ve been planning the interface between Leaguers and Lifers for some time.”
As Birnam handed Penny the key card, Portia asked the question she’d been sitting on since they’d taken off. “Can I bring my Handycam to the launch party?”
“Absolutely,” Birnam replied. “On one condition.”
“What?”
“I keep all the footage until after Worldwide Out Day.”
“How long will that be?” Portia asked.
“If all goes well, in a month or two.”
She nodded happily. “Deal.”
Morning handed Portia the garment bag, along with his take on Birnam’s condition. “We can’t have you outing any Leaguers before Worldwide Out Day. Until the big day is a slam dunk, this experiment only has one guinea pig,” he said, doing a one-digit air-quote on “guinea pig.” “And that’s me.”
Birnam tried to soften the testy remark. “It’s a crude way of putting it, but that’s about right.” Then he gave his guests a welcoming smile. “Someone will come and fetch you at eight.”
As Birnam and Morning left, Portia realized she hadn’t gotten any close-up footage of his personality change from sweet kid to schmuck-stick. She added it to her shot list for the night.
Birnam and Morning made their way through the ghost town’s saloon, entered Leaguer Mountain through the rock door at the back of the stage, and moved along the tunnel toward the Academy.
“Is coming back here putting you in a bad mood?” Birnam asked.
“I don’t know,” Morning answered as he searched for why he felt so on edge. “Maybe it’s like you said, it’s uncharted territory, and everything’s getting more intense.”
Birnam was tempted to tell him that being caught in the riptide of Portia’s blood and his own DNA trying to reassert itself might have something to do with it. But the night was too big to risk sabotaging it by undercutting Morning’s confidence with the knowledge that he was running on Portia fuel.
Morning finally got to the question that had been bugging him since they boarded the chopper in Vegas. “Why did you invite them?”
“They’ve both made a huge contribution to your success.”
“And they got paid for it.”
Birnam answered his truculence with a patient smile. “Portia hasn’t made a dime.”
“She’s getting to shoot a film that’s going to make her famous.”
“Isn’t there enough room in the spotlight for both of you?”
“I’m not jealous of her, if that’s what you mean.”
“You’re certain of that?”
Morning’s chest tightened. He wondered if Birnam had been eavesdropping outside the dressing room when he’d almost attacked Portia. “Look, Mr. Birnam, it’s like you said. I hovered over the well, I’ve bitten the bloodlust bullet, and I’m over it. I’m over her.”
They entered the courtyard in front of the Academy’s main building. Birnam stopped and placed his hands on Morning’s shoulders. “I believe you. I also believe in the feelings I still hear in your voice. You want to know why I invited them? They’re still part of your test—our test.”
Morning stepped back, breaking from his hands. “I’m done with tests. I passed ’em to earn my diploma, and I passed ’em with Portia. I’m here to enjoy the night.”
“Yes, and revel in the fact that you’re this close”—Birnam held up his thumb and index finger—“to becoming the first vampire to turn back the clock and pursue his Lifer dreams. Keep that in mind as you enjoy the night.”
Birnam started away, then turned around. “Oh, I almost forgot. We left your room like it was. You’ll find a tuxedo. Wear it. I’ll see you at the party.”
37
Reunions
Birnam was right. His room hadn’t been touched. Even his tattered copy of Watchmen still lay on the bed wher
e he’d tossed it. The only thing that was out of place was Morning’s sense of time. He’d been away less than a week, but it felt like months.
Morning stood in front of the mirror on the back of his door. He had never worn a tuxedo before. He was thankful for the instructions that came with it. Otherwise he never would have been able to figure out where to put all the studs, or to wear the cummerbund with the pleats facing up, not down.
He was dazzled by how it changed him. The jacket’s padded shoulders made him bigger. The shoes’ thick heels made him taller. The tux made him handsome in a way he’d never thought possible. The outfit’s bold lines and crisp pleats seemed to carry into his face. His jaw was squarer. His cheekbones were higher. His nose seemed longer and stronger. It was an outfit for a superhero.
He smiled at a thought. If they refused to admit him to the Fire Academy, and let his superhero costume be a firefighter’s turnout gear, then a tux would be his second choice.
The sound of voices outside his room yanked him away from the mirror. The party was beginning.
He moved to the dresser to collect his wooden charm. He scooped it up and started to slip it in his pocket. He stopped, turned it over, and stared at the blue Maltese cross with FDNY. Then he remembered the one time in the studio when he hadn’t touched the wood for good luck. It had been before he nailed the perfect take. Maybe the charm wasn’t so lucky after all. Maybe it was even bad luck. He tossed the wooden disc toward the bed. It skipped off the cover of Watchmen and landed on the bedspread.
When he stepped out of his room, an explosion of sound knocked him back on his heels. It blasted up from the thousands of Leaguers crowding the parade ground.
Birnam rose from below the edge of the walkway. Wearing a black tuxedo, he rode in the pod of a giant cherry picker. “Your chariot awaits you!” he shouted over the cheers as the pod drew level to the walkway. He swung the small door open.
Morning stepped in and Birnam began maneuvering the pod down toward the sea of adulation. The roar melded into a thundering chant for Morning. As he beamed and waved, he scanned the throng for familiar faces. He picked out several classmates, and found the lens of Portia’s camera pointing up at him.
For the next hour he was mobbed by Leaguers and signed autographs until his hand cramped. He kept seeing Portia’s camera thrust above the pushing crowd like the head of an electronic ostrich.
He finally caught a break from the crush when a band began blasting a song from the stage floating on Leaguer Lake. Birnam also pulled Leaguers away as he began a Q&A session in the grandstand and addressed the rumors going around about Worldwide Out Day being in the near future. He dodged the most direct questions. He wanted the airing of Morning’s commercial and the simultaneous launch of IVLeague.us to be a complete surprise. The only hint was the huge screen that had been hung from the graduation platform.
Morning retreated to the row of quaffeteria stations set up on the edge of the parade ground. Reaching the Vegan Veins stand, he perked up at the sight of his old friend, Dolly.
She gave him a knuckle tap, congratulated him for his transformation from class klutz to the school’s most famous graduate, and slid a Blood Lite across the counter. “The usual.”
“That’s another thing that’s changed,” he said, sliding the drink back. “I’m a recovering vegan.” The phrase popped out of his mouth. He knew he’d heard it somewhere before but he couldn’t place who had said it.
Dolly’s ears pulled back like a curious cat’s. “A recovering vegan?”
Hearing it again triggered the details. Portia had said it the first time they’d met. “Yeah, for some reason I’ve lost my taste for soy blood substitutes. I’ve gone animal.”
“Well, if I had to deal with Lifers all day,” Dolly said with a sardonic smile, “I’d need something stronger too.”
“Hey, Morning,” someone shouted.
He turned toward the voice. Rachel Capilarus, in a tight red dress, moved toward him. Watching her approach, he remembered she didn’t just walk, she conquered space, and harvested hearts with every step.
When she vanquished the space directly in front of him, Morning’s pleased expression wasn’t lost on Dolly. “Okay, I’ll let you two catch up.” She disappeared behind the drink station.
Rachel gave him a wry smile. “Are you so famous you don’t remember me?”
“No one forgets Rachel Capilarus,” he said, then made a big show of looking around. “Except maybe her date.”
She threw her head back with a throaty laugh.
He didn’t miss the chance to check out the roof of her mouth. It was more alluring than ever.
“The truth is,” she explained, “I’m dateless.”
“C’mon, you’re kidding.”
“Nope. I’m the gorgeous cheerleader whose reign ends the day after graduation.”
“But you had Dieter Auerbach wrapped around your little finger. Isn’t he here?”
“Couldn’t make it,” she answered. “So he said. But I think he was jealous.”
“Of who?”
“You, of course. For being so right.”
“How was I right?”
“You predicted the future.”
“I did?”
“Yep. You told him you were going to turn into a superhero named Moth-Fire who gets his power from drinking fire and flies around the world saving Leaguers like us.”
As she spoke, a vision suddenly blinded Morning. A ball of fire rushed at him. It was so real he felt the searing heat on his face. He jumped back. Then the fire was gone, replaced by Rachel’s face. Her forehead was wrinkled with concern.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, fine.” He shook off the lingering vision. “Believe me, I haven’t turned into Moth-Fire.”
“What’s in a name?” she quipped. “If the rumors are true, you’ll be known as the superhero who led us out of the woods.”
Her words infused him with pride. Then the intoxicating effect of her praise was cut short by another vision. This one was no hallucination. A Handycam pushed toward them.
“Moth-Fire?” Portia echoed from behind her camera. “Great name for you, Morning.”
He quickly took in Portia’s white dress and her shiny dark hair falling in long curls over her bare shoulders. He also noticed that her high heels made her much taller. Whatever boost he had gotten from his shoes, she had doubled. He tried to chase her away with a glare. “Can’t I have a moment to myself?”
Portia swung the camera to Rachel. “Hmm, you have a funny definition of ‘myself.’”
Rachel gave the camera a friendly wave. “Hi, I’m Rachel Capilarus, an old friend of Morning’s.”
“Portia Dredful,” Portia said, continuing to shoot, “a new friend of Morning’s.”
Rachel flashed her radiant smile for the camera. “Well, since rumor is that tonight’s all about putting the old behind us and bringing in the new, he’s all yours.” She started away.
“Rachel,” Morning protested, “wait.”
She tossed a wave and moved toward the lake as the band started a new song. “Catch me later, Moth-Fire, for a dance.”
When Portia swung her camera to get Morning’s reaction, he pushed his hand over the lens. “What else are you gonna do to ruin my big night?”
She yanked the camera away, turned it off, and jammed her free hand on her hip. “You know what, Morning? You wouldn’t be having a big night if it weren’t for me.”
He shot back a derisive laugh. “Talk about having it backward. If it weren’t for me, you and your mother would be back in New York hanging out with alien-abducted Elvises and two-headed wrestlers.”
His words stung, even though she knew it was exactly the kind of thing she would say. She wanted to lash out with the truth of what she’d done for him. But she didn’t want to be thanked. She didn’t want him thinking he owed her. She didn’t want a mercy friendship. She tried to strip the anger from her voice. “Morning, ever since I visited
you in the dressing room yesterday, you’ve been pissed at me. What did I do that was so wrong?”
His eyes bored into her. “You don’t have to do anything. You just have to be you.” He turned and hurried away before the throb in his gums got worse.
Portia refused to let the tightness in her throat creep any higher. What’s the point of crying, she told herself, when it wasn’t just him insulting me, it was part of me, in him, insulting myself! It made her want to jump up and scream, Is there an exorcist in the house? If she could exorcise the inner Portia out of him, she might get through the night.
She yanked a compact from her camera bag and checked her makeup. When she lowered the mirror, her eyes fell on a tall figure at the edge of the crowd listening to Birnam. He was a young man with wavy black hair. Something about him seemed familiar.
As she started forward for a closer look, he turned his head. The shock of recognition stopped her. It was the guy from the studio, the twisted preppie. But what was he doing here? And why did he look different?
Seeing her, DeThanatos grinned and moved closer.
Watching him glide across the ground in his tuxedo, she focused on the easier of her questions. What was different about him? As he reached her she grabbed the answer. “Yesterday you were a blond.”
“True,” he acknowledged. “My internship takes me to all the departments in the studio, and yesterday was hair and makeup. I did the wig myself. Not bad if it fooled you.”
Her eyes widened as her first question couldn’t be answered any other way. “But if you’re here, that means you’re a, a…”
DeThanatos nodded. “Yes, a Leaguer. But you fooled me as well. I had no idea you were one—”
“I’m not!” Portia blurted. “My mother and I are guests.” She smiled with pride. “And the first mortals to visit Leaguer Mountain.”
“I see,” he said with a wry smile. Then he spread his hands in an elegant gesture. “Welcome to our closet.”