Midnight Brunch

by Marta Acosta

  “Lucky you didn’t drink that. I had a cupful once and woke up naked by the tracks two days later.”

  Zave had probably had a bottle, not a cup, because I felt clearheaded. “Where are we going?”

  “I can take you to your truck, or maybe you want to come with me.” He tore around a bus that was trying to merge into traffic. “We can drive north, south, whatever you want, wherever the wind takes us, Milagro.”

  “You don’t know how good that sounds, Zave. But you don’t have to do that for me.”

  “I owe you,” he said quietly. “The other night in front of your friend’s house, when you were with Ducharme…”

  It took a moment for the realization to hit. “That was you?”

  “Silas wanted to send a message to Ducharme. He was mad about something Ducharme said to Willem Dunlop.”

  “So he sent you to kill Ian?”

  Zave laughed. “A knife’s not going to kill him. But it would hurt and maybe he’d back down from opposing the Project for a New Vampire Century.”

  “Why would Ian oppose it if it’s so nice and good? Silas told me he believed that everyone was equal.”

  “Yeah, sure, all humans are equal,” he said. “He thinks it’s our destiny as superior beings to lead and direct humans. ‘Peace and harmony through control and direction.’ ”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I don’t really care about that stuff.”

  “What does Silas want with me?”

  “He says you’re the omen of the new era of nonvampires who are in alignment with us and maybe even can have hybrid offspring. Your blood is supposed to be, what was the word he used? Transformative.”

  “I’m not a symbol. I’m a normal girl.”

  “You healed up, though, from a real bad slice,” he said. “That’s not normal, even for us. The only ones who heal like that…the only one I know…”

  “I’m a normal girl with a few quirks. Did you tell Silas what happened?”

  He frowned. “I told him you got in the way. I didn’t tell him you got cut bad ’cause he would have slit my throat.”

  “That’s merely a figure of speech, right?” When he didn’t answer, I asked, “Are my friends, the Grants, involved in this movement at all?”

  “Silas didn’t say anything, but you’re like his special project,” Zave said. “I’m real sorry about the other night. You came at me and the knife slipped. I’d never hurt a girl.”

  “I am all atwitter that chivalry is not dead.”

  Zave laughed, then said, “I like you.”

  I felt a strange exhilaration, feeling a rush from escaping the neovamps and racing along the streets with Zave, the world open before us. If I went with him, I wouldn’t have to be careful about what I said or what I did or how I dressed or if I had a career. If I went with him, I wouldn’t have to worry that Evelyn was right and that eventually Oswald and I would hate each other. “Would you take me to my truck, Zave?”

  He sighed. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet. What are you going to do?”

  “Get out of here. I’m bored with it all. Not enough hot girls.”

  “What about the thralls?”

  “I don’t like submissive chicks. I like them with fight in them, like you.”

  I asked Zave how’d he’d gotten involved with Silas and he said, “He recruits guys dropping out of school, or maybe with some substance abuse problems. You join the movement and you get an apartment, a salary, a job. He gets you on track. It’s okay for a while.”

  “What about the ideology?”

  “He paid off my college loans, so I was like, yeah, new vampire century, whatever.”

  When we got to my truck in the airport parking lot, he leaned over to kiss me. His lips landed on my cheek, and gory images burst in my head. I wanted to jerk back from the contact, but I kept control until he pulled away. “Maybe next time,” he said.

  “Maybe,” I answered.

  He waited as I lugged my bag out of the car and tossed it in the back of the truck. “Bye, Zave. And thank you.”

  “Hasta la vista, baby.”

  He took off and I stood there for a minute, paralyzed by the reality that both human and vampire contact gave me these waking nightmares. I could have broken down then, collapsed on the cold asphalt, and cried in anguish. But that was not who I was. That was not how I had lived through the loss of my abuelita and the years of loneliness in my mother Regina’s house.

  As always, my instincts took over. I got in my truck and drove to the pay booth.

  The attendant said, “The guy in the Camaro paid for you.”

  Zave’s small kindness was enough to make me hope. I drove out of the lot and back toward my comfort zone, the City. Silas knew I’d stayed at Mercedes’s, so I couldn’t go there, and he knew I’d possibly head for the ranch. And then it occurred to me: Nancy was gone on her honeymoon and she’d kept her old apartment for days of shopping and shows in the City.

  I parked a few blocks from Nancy’s apartment building in an upscale, very trendy neighborhood of overpriced boutiques, day spas, cafés, and restaurants. After checking to see that no one was around, I used an eyeliner crayon to alter my license plates, changing a C to an O, and a 3 to an 8.

  Unbeknownst to Todd, Nancy had never asked me to return the key that she had given me. Her place was in a smaller building, only eight units total, and she was on the third floor. It wasn’t until I opened the door that I remembered that Nancy was redecorating it as what she called “a lady’s bedsit.”

  Todd and Nancy’s cavernous monster of a home was done in a minimalist design, but she’d brought balance to her life by cramming every ruffled, flowered, fluffy thing into this apartment. I put the bolt on the door, threw my bag in the bedroom, and poured myself a vodka tonic.

  Then I fished Detective Jefferson’s card out of my wallet. I rehearsed what I would tell him: the mugger had been a member of a neovampire movement, and they’d tried to drug me with an ancient grain alcohol and feed on my blood in order to initiate the beginning of a new vampire era.

  Despite our brief acquaintance, Detective Jefferson did not seem like a man who would find my story credible. I put his card back in my wallet.

  I needed an escape from reality, so I turned on the television to my favorite channel, the classic movie station. I’d seen Now, Voyager before and found it particularly fascinating because the story features not one but two horrible, heartless mothers.

  Although Oswald’s mother treated me badly, I couldn’t hate her. At least she loved and admired her child, the way mothers were supposed to.

  I called Oswald, who didn’t answer. I was relieved, because it would be easier to tell him in person that I’d met with Silas. I didn’t know how to explain my reinfection without mentioning Ian, though.

  Then I called Gabriel. As the security dude, he would need to know about Silas, and I hoped he would have some suggestions on how to punish him sufficiently for his bad behavior. Gabriel’s message said, “I am taking personal time off, and I will not be checking messages.”

  Ian was next, and I struck out again. “Ian, new issues of serious concern for both of us. Call me.”

  I was feeling oddly ambivalent about my friends at the ranch. Did I really want to tell them all the gory details of my awful incidents, when they had been the ones who had invited Willem and Silas to the baby’s event? I wondered how much they knew about the Project for a New Vampire Century, and how much they supported the movement.

  When I called the Big House, Winnie answered. Before I could say anything, she put the baby on the phone. “Hi, Libby, hi, my little baby friend. How are you? Do you miss me? Is my dog behaving?” The conversation was necessarily one-sided.

  After I’d babbled for a few minutes, Winnie got back on and asked, “How was the wedding?”

  “Very beautiful, although the bridegroom is still a jerk. How is everything there?”

  Winnie told me that t
he last of the relatives had left, that Edna was annoyed I wasn’t around to help, and that no, Oswald hadn’t called, but he usually didn’t when he went on these trips. The baby started crying, and Winnie said, “She’s exhausted from all the activity, and off her schedule. I’ve got to take care of her. Call me back, okay, Young Lady?”

  “Absolutely, Winsome.”

  I hung up the phone and let my mind go blank. I hadn’t a clue what to do. I had already imposed all this crazy vampire stuff on Mercedes, and I didn’t want to bother her again—especially since I had falsely blamed her neighborhood for the assault.

  My phone rang. I checked the incoming number. It had a Los Angeles area code. “Hello?” I said cautiously.

  “Milagro, Skip Taylor here. You know how I said I was having problems with my screenwriter?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Yeah, so I was thinking, you know, screw him.”

  “Hmm,” I said. Was he trying to impress me so he could ask me out?

  “Okay, so you want to do my rewrite for me?”

  I gripped the phone tight, afraid it would fly away with his words. “Could you repeat that?”

  “You’re a writer, and I feel like we’re on the same frequency. So if you want the job, it’s a flat-fee rewrite, no screen credit, but you do get WGA membership and stuff.”

  “Skip, I am officially in love with you,” I said. “When do you need it? When can you send it?”

  “The thing is I need it now, but I’ll be shuttling between the location and my offices for the next month. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind staying at the location, writing there, so we can meet and go over stuff. I’m on a tight schedule here.”

  “Where would I stay?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll put you up in a casita at the Paragon Spa and Resort. You ever been there? Nice place, a lot of industry types frequent it, desert air and stuff. You’ll have your own little place, catered meals, and a private patio and pool.”

  “The Paragon? Where is that?” I asked.

  “In the desert outside a town called La Basura. It’s a nice quiet place to work on ‘Teeth of Sharpness.’ ”

  For a moment, I was still with fear that Skip knew everything about the vampires.

  “Milagro,” he said. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “So do you want to work on the screenplay, ‘Teeth of Sharpness’? That’s just the working title. We might change it to something about flying death or shadow of the beast.”

  It was only a title and I’d been overreacting. “That will suit me fine, Skip,” I said. “I’ll drive down tomorrow.”

  Given my situation, it seemed entirely fitting that I should escape to a town called The Garbage.

  Twelve

  Welcome to the Hotel California

  I went to bed early but didn’t sleep well. My night was full of vivid dreams of knives and blood and Ian and sex, and I didn’t even want to think about them when I awoke early. I wanted them out of my brain.

  I jogged to a twenty-four-hour market, bought two steaks, and went back to Nancy’s. After consuming my breakfast, I went to Nancy’s closet. I’d only brought clothes for a few days and I needed spa wear. Nancy had once advised me that high-quality accessories are more important than clothes. This was probably a truism for her social class, so I grabbed handbags, scarves, belts, and sunglasses. She was a petite chick, and most of her things didn’t fit me, but I found three pair of sandals that were roomy enough for my patas.

  I stuffed these things in a carryall that still had its price tag. Even though I knew that Nancy squandered money, I was still shocked to see what she would pay for a bag that she might never use.

  I took all my loot and went to the block where my truck was parked. I surveyed the area for ten minutes before deciding that Silas’s underlings weren’t around. Then I hurried to the truck and was on the road heading south. Even at this early hour, commuters crowded the freeway, but most of them were heading into the City, not away. Once I got beyond the region’s perimeters, I could speed up, and I did so without even thinking about it. I was dashing around slower cars, seeing all the action ahead as clearly as the plot of a familiar book.

  And I thought, Ian drives like this.

  It was just then that my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and saw that Ian was calling.

  “Ian,” I said, “where have you been?”

  “You sound well, darling.”

  “That is a matter for debate, Ian. I’m drinking animal blood and have really fast reactions. Also, Silas wanted to use me in a bloodletting ritual welcoming a new vampire era.” I didn’t tell him about the visions. What if he was as horrified as I was? What if they were a sign of insanity?

  “You sound as if you are full of vitality, my dear.”

  I was upset that he sounded calm. “Do you know that Silas sent one of his followers to stab you?”

  “I suspected as much. Madison has a petty, vindictive nature. How did you learn this?”

  “Because I made the mistake of meeting with him. He promised to tell me about vampire history. He told me about something called the Project for a New Vampire Century. Do you know about it?”

  “Willem wrote that manifesto years ago, but none of us took it seriously. He couldn’t organize a poker game, let alone a political movement. Silas resurrected the project,” Ian said. “But I’m curious why he told you all this. Did he try to take the buttons from your dress?”

  “No, he has a loftier view of my role in vampire society. In fact, he thinks I can produce an army of hybrid bloodsucking babies to promote the Project for a New Vampire Century.”

  Ian had the nerve to laugh.

  “It is so not funny, Ian,” I said, all fuming.

  “Milagro, please believe that I take Silas Madison’s attacks on you very seriously…deadly seriously. I’m only laughing out of relief that you obviously escaped and are well. I will always bet on you in a fight.”

  “I’d rather avoid fighting altogether,” I said. “He’s operating out of a vampire bar. He suggested that I participate in an old folk custom and made it sound like an academic exercise. Then I found out that he planned to serve me as the main course.”

  “Silas is not superstitious, Young Lady, but he does believe in continuing the old practices for the sake of tradition.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel much better. Why didn’t anyone ever tell me there are vampire bars?” I told him the address.

  “I know the club. The singer’s quite good.”

  “She’s terrific except when she’s singing in that hideous language. But back to the topic, I’d like to know what’s happening to me physically.”

  “Would that I could tell you, but it’s all rather speculative at this point. My hope is that when you are fully recovered, you will enjoy beneficial changes. I make no promises, however. You aren’t like anyone else in the world.”

  “Yes, and every snowflake is unique,” I said. “What does it mean that you’re the Dark Lord?”

  He chuckled. “An ancestor-bought property in cold and boggy province. Worthless as farmland, but he got a title.” Ian paused and said more seriously, “Milagro, I’ve got to go now. I couldn’t call you before because I was trying to deal with Madison through official channels. The result was unsatisfactory, so I’ll have to take another approach.”

  “I haven’t quite figured out what your ‘official channels’ are, Ian.”

  “We have a council that decides on judicial matters. They have been ignoring Madison’s activities because some of the older members support the movement,” he said. “Milagro, Silas won’t dare touch you on family property, so please stay at the ranch. Do you understand?”

  “Believe me, I understand the danger.” I thought of Cuthbertson’s zombielike movements and the chilling desire in his voice when he said he wanted to feel the knife cut me. “Silas wants my blood, Ian. He thinks it has unique properties.”

  “He may b
e correct, darling. Save it all for me, though,” he said seriously. “Go home and be careful. I will be in touch.”

  “Bye, Ian.”

  I’d told Ian that I understood, not that I agreed. Until I worked out my friends’ relationship to Silas’s group, I’d rather hide away out in the middle of nowhere. Maybe, too, as time passed, so would the visions and the craving for blood.

  I glanced at the phone and realized that Silas could use it to track me. I pulled over at the next town, a mess of fast food restaurants, gas stations, and mini-malls. I deleted all the information and my message from the phone, and then found a post office and mailed the phone to Santa Claus, Nome, Alaska. “That’s not a valid address,” the clerk told me.

  “I promised my niece that I would mail her present to Santa,” I said with a smile.

  I got a strawberry soda and an extra-rare roast beef sandwich at a deli, and I was back on the road.

  I didn’t doubt that Ian was telling the truth: I was an anomaly and the vampires could not predict what I would become.

  I wondered if my vampire friends saw the flesh and blood as I had. If so, why hadn’t they told me? Because I was an outsider and would always be an outsider. Maybe every time Oswald held me, touched me, and made love to me, he was delighting in seeing a red and raw carcass in his arms. I couldn’t bear the thought that I would never be able to show him affection again, to make love to him, without seeing those images.

  I yearned to hear his voice and I had an awful feeling that he was calling me now, on the phone that I’d just mailed away.

  I made one more stop on the road, at a midsize town dominated by new oversized tract houses. First, I found an off-brand store staffed by sly young men who didn’t think it was necessary to run a national security check on me before I bought a pre-paid phone. I did, however, agree to have a beer with them when I came back through town.

  Then I went to a large thrift store and sorted quickly through the racks for clothes that said serious writer slash spa guest. The only desert clothing I could think of was from the fabulous old movie Lawrence of Arabia. I found myself paying a pittance for white cotton shirts, khaki shorts, khaki trousers, and an absurd pale olive jacket with epaulets and gold buttons.