Fat Vampire Value Meal (Books 1-4 in the series) (43 page)

“I’m thirty-eight,” said Reginald.
 

“What’s the issue? Come on. Give.”
 

So Reginald sighed, prepared for mockery, and explained the changes at Council to Claire. She’d already been through two major vampire crises, so he went ahead and told her everything: the changes in the law that made Maurice irrelevant and powerless, the crumbling of the Council, the lawlessness and threat of chaos and the human decimation it would probably bring with it, and the promise of a democratically elected president in Sir Charles.

“Oh, it won’t be
that
knob,” said Claire. Then the dismissive smile vanished from her face and she looked shocked.
 

“Really?”
 

“I was just saying. Nobody would vote for that guy.”
 

Now Reginald was the one who was smiling. “No, that’s not what you were saying at all. You just blurted that out. Do it again.”
 

“You think I’m predicting the future?”

“I kind of do. When I was learning to read like a vampire, it felt like it was taking me hours to read books that I’d actually read in seconds. Then, when Maurice asked me about what I’d read — like really detailed, minutia-type questions — I didn’t think I knew the answers… but then I did. Maurice said it was like using a muscle on a limb you didn’t know you had. Just now, you surprised yourself with that answer. I’ll bet I showed the same surprise at first.”

But Claire shook her head and, no matter how much Reginald goaded her, wouldn’t say more.
 

Reginald looked at the clock. Claire saw where he was looking, and her eyes went to the front door. She said, “What?”
 

“Nothing.”
 

“Reginald,
what?”
 

“Just… no worries, okay? But when did you say your mom was supposed to be home?”
 

“Maybe a few minutes after ten.” Her eyes went back to the clock. It was twenty after. She looked at Reginald, the door, the clock. Her mouth made an O.
 

“I’m sure she’s just running late,” he said.
 

“It’s a work thing. She would’t stay a minute longer than she had to.”
 

“Then they held her up. Or she stopped to chat.”
 

But Claire already looked panicked. There was almost certainly nothing to it, but she was worked up because he’d just told her about the recent lawlessness he’d seen downtown. And sure, vampires were killing, draining, and turning humans more and more in recent days, but just because Victoria walked alone in a neighborhood where even the police weren’t surprised when people ended up missing didn’t mean that…

“Okay, I’ll check,” he said. Then, because he felt as if he was essentially Claire’s adopted father, added, “But
only
to set your mind at ease, because I’ve got to be going.”
 

He stood up and trotted heavily toward the door. Claire was on his heels. When he reached the door, he turned around and told her that he’d be right back.
 

“I’m coming with you,” said Claire.
 

“Like hell you are. Not that there’s anything to be afraid of, of course, but because this neighborhood isn’t a place you should be walking around after dark.” God, he was bad at this. Not only was he making it sound like Victoria might actually be in trouble, but Claire had
just
walked home in the dark, and would have done so alone if Reginald hadn’t showed up.
 

Claire was ignoring him, already pulling on her coat. It was the same coat she’d been wearing when he’d first met her, with the giant anorak hood. It didn’t seem nearly as oversized on her anymore.
 

Reginald squatted down. “I’ll make this simple. Either I go alone or we’ll sit back down and watch TV. You are flat-out not going with me. Are we clear?”
 

Claire apparently wasn’t used to receiving parental orders. Until recently, Victoria had been a perpetual no-show thanks to her jobs combined with Altus’s influence, so Claire was used to doing pretty much what she wanted, when she wanted. Reginald’s ultimatum seemed to shock her. Her face registered something that was almost hurt, but then she took the coat off and hung it back up.

“Stay inside,” said Reginald.
 

Then, after he was halfway out the door, he turned and looked Claire in the eye and added, “And not that there’s anything to worry about… but be sure to lock the door behind me.”
 

R
EDNECKS

THE SKY IN CLAIRE’S NEIGHBORHOOD was overcast, and the air was cold. Outside of the cones beneath the streetlights, the night was very dark. All was surprisingly quiet. Reginald sensed a mood of waiting, and of watching.
 

He walked down the steps to the street, then looked back at the house. Claire looked at him from a window. A woman two houses down was doing the same.
 

Several ground floor windows on houses along the street were boarded but had lights on upstairs. Either people had moved into boarded houses and not bothered to clear the windows, or citizens were bunking in. Reginald did a quick mental scan of the vampire-related news stories he’d read and seen over the past few weeks, then cross-referenced them with maps from an atlas he’d memorized. As the information clicked, he realized that this neighborhood had seen its share of violence.
 

He looked back at the boarded windows and was reminded of old-time movie monsters, and the way villagers in those movies would hole up and lay quiet when there was something dark that haunted them during the nights. He got a distinct mental picture that was almost certainly more cinema than reality — humans bunkered and cowering inside of their boarded homes with vampires circling outside, tapping on the windows from dusk until dawn, taunting them, unable to enter.
 

But it was all fantasy. It was too overt.
 

For now. But who knows what the next year will bring?

Reginald walked a few minutes down the shady neighborhood street to where Claire had described — a dark throughway that connected two well-lit streets. He was supposed to turn where there was an array of construction pylons and a sign advertising OPEN SEWER. In the middle of the construction barricades was a hole in the concrete with jagged edges. A hole yawned beyond it, leading into a deep and bottomless darkness. It looked like the street had either caved in or been crushed. He found himself wondering how carefully you had to secure a site like this. Would neighborhood kids try to climb down into a dark, smelly sewer?

Reginald turned to look into the alley. It was a straight shot, and the sign on the store from which Victoria was apparently coming was visible from where Reginald was standing. The pass-through was wide but still technically an alley; the backs of buildings bordered it on both sides. Reginald could see dumpsters and discarded shipping palettes. His vampire eyes could read the writing on stacked boxes, as far away as they were, even in the dark.
 

Fresh Haas avocados, producto de Honduras.
 

Hand-Serv Styrofoam cups, 20oz.

And there was something moving off to one side, behind a mound of trash.
 

Reginald realized that he shouldn’t be out searching alone. What if he
did
run into hostile vampires? What the hell was he supposed to do? He wouldn’t stand a chance.
 

His hand stole into his pants pocket, flicking at the edges of a stack of credit cards. He wondered if the office of the Deacon would hold any sway. He had an official card identifying him as the Deacon’s deputy, but it was a pathetic thing, no more impressive than a library card. What was he supposed to do, flash it like a badge?

He began walking down the street. He didn’t have the speed or stealth of normal vampires, so there was no point in trying to run. If the movement by the trash
was
a vampire (or vampires), his best bet was to approach slowly and hope that their vampire ears wouldn’t hear him — not an easy feat for a man who weighed in at three hundred and fifty pounds.
 

He crept closer, staying to the opposite side of the alley, watching where he stepped, stopping every time he saw movement.
 

There was definitely someone over there, crouched down. Two someones. They were hunched over something. Could be a discarded pizza box. Could be a crack pipe.
 

Could be Claire’s mother.
 

Reginald walked closer and realized that it was a pair of homeless people gnawing on a chicken leg. He could see them in the sparse, reflected light from the lit streets on either end of the wide alley. The chicken leg was a sloppy, disgusting thing, slathered in barbecue sauce.
 

Except that it wasn’t barbecue sauce, and it wasn’t a chicken leg. It was way too big to be a chicken leg. It had a head on one end. Sticking out of the tiny huddle was a pair sensible shoes. The legs attached to the shoes looked as if they’d been well-toned, perhaps by jogging.
 

Reginald crouched down. The pair of vampires looked almost feral, the way they were hovered over the woman in the corner. He wondered if she was dead. Most vampires took their prey by force, but Reginald, who glamoured his prey or fed on willing victims, had never witnessed a live, resisting attack. When did they stop fighting? How long did it usually take before they died?

As Reginald watched, one of the legs twitched.
 

Reginald was still fifteen yards away. There was absolutely no way he’d be able to take the others in a fight. He was slow and weak, and as he’d told Claire, his sole physical talent — superior muscular coordination and balance — was thus far only good for parlor tricks.
 

Beside him, a splintered shipping palette lay against the alley wall. One of the crossbeams was splintered entirely through. It would make a perfect stake, but it was still stapled to the member underneath it.
 

Reginald felt his breathing quicken and his heart rate increase. He wished, not for the first time, that movies had gotten vampirism right — that being undead stilled the heart and made the afflicted into perfect undead automatons. But movies hadn’t gotten it right. Reginald was fat, he was out of shape, and he was scared.
 

You’ll only get yourself killed,
he thought,
and how will that help anyone?

It was a legitimate question. Reginald was Maurice’s greatest weapon thanks to his unparalleled strategic mind. If he died, it would be like unplugging Maurice’s master database, leaving him to fly blind into destruction. If he died, there would be nothing standing between the disintegrating Vampire Council and total anarchy.
 

Reginald pushed the thought down into his shoes. He had to do something. Live or die, there was no way he could simply walk away.
 

He reached toward the makeshift wooden stake with its protruding staple. He could wiggle the stake until the staple came free, but he’d never be able to do it quietly. So he grabbed the giant staple between his forefinger and thumb and gave a small prayer that what he thought might be true — for a fat guy who could balance on a fencepost and do a one-armed handstand — would end up being true.
 

He pulled the staple out in one long, slow pull. It came easily, and blessedly quietly.

So it’s not just finger
coordination
, but an odd level of finger
strength
,
he thought.
That could come in handy.
Then he almost laughed as he looked at the huddled vampires and thought,
Maybe I can pinch them to death. Or tickle them horribly
.
 

Reginald gripped the stake in his right hand. It was a pathetic weapon. They’d circle him five times before he could use it.
 

(Pretend you’re a human.)
 

The thought hit him like a brick. Yes. Of course. If they thought he was a human, they’d attack him in the way they’d attack a human rather than the way they’d attack a vampire. That might just give him enough time to defend himself.
 

Reginald tucked the stake into the back of his waistband, stepped into the center of the alley, and yelled, “Hey! What are you doing over there?”
 

Two heads turned, but neither of the vampires bothered to rise to their feet. One was male and one was female. A crazy, random thought crossed Reginald’s mind as they assessed him with their fangs out, their mouths smeared with blood:
They’re not a couple, because if they were, the woman wouldn’t let the man feed on a woman.
 

He looked down at the woman in question. It was Victoria. Her eyes were open and vacant. She looked very pale. While he watched, she blinked.
 

The male vampire hissed, then stood.
 

Reginald feigned terror. He wasn’t a good actor, but he was feeling a decent amount of genuine terror, so he used it. Then he waited, watching their eyes. There was maybe an even chance that they’d recognize him. Reginald was fairly well-known in the vampire community, and the Council’s case against him — and the ensuing overthrow — was legendary. But vampires could be like humans in their selective ignorance, and half or more of the country’s humans wouldn’t recognize the vice president of the United States if he walked up and shook their hand.
 

The male vampire’s eyes met Reginald’s. He felt something like an invisible hand touch the top of his head. The vampire was trying to glamour him.
 

“You are not afraid,” the vampire said.
 

Reginald let his eyes glaze and allowed his shoulders to slump. He assumed the vacant gaze he’d seen so many times through his own eyes.

“Come over here,” said the vampire.
 

Behind the male, the female was getting to her feet. Reginald waited. If he was going to strike, they’d both have to be close — and even then, he doubted he could take both of them. Even if he could stake the male, he’d never move fast enough to get the woman too. She’d either kill him or run. The latter of the two was all he could hope for.