Fat Vampire Value Meal (Books 1-4 in the series) (56 page)

“Our whole nest was harassed by a bona-fide old-world village back before I moved to Virginia,” said Maurice, nodding.
 

“Sometimes they chase me out of Burger King,” said Reginald.
 

“I took a pitchfork through the head once,” said Karl. “It was not pleasant. It was like he’d sharpened the points to be like daggers. A panicked and rather large woman swung a huge stone hammer and knocked me down, and her husband stood over me and drove the fork through my head — actually through my skull and brain — and into the ground. I guess he thought we were zombies. He couldn’t pull it out, so he left it and marched toward the ruins of an old estate we’d holed up in. I stayed where I was until he was gone because I didn’t want to take a chance that someone else might fork me or hit me again. I was young then, and not as strong. I was also not used to pain, and this pain was beyond the world. After he left, I freed myself and removed the thing. And when I made it back to the nest, they had burned it to cinders. Luckily it was evening. Villagers were idiots and always seemed to attack at night, so many of my fellows escaped. But five did not.”
 

Even though Karl was telling what sounded to Reginald like a tragic story, he put his hands on his hips and looked wistfully into the distance, as if reliving a fond memory of the good old days. Reginald found himself expecting Karl to say something about how times were simpler then, or perhaps talk about how much you could buy with a dime. Or whatever currency they’d been using at the time, he mentally amended.
 

“Anyway,” said Karl, “don’t expect much of the friendly chatter at the summit. They will be extremely angry and they will make threats. It helps to think of them as villagers with pitchforks and torches, because that is essentially what they are underneath. It is our job to convince them that this was all Barkley’s fault…”
 

“Which it wasn’t,” said Reginald.
 

“… and also that Timken represents a definite return to law and order.”
 

“Which we don’t know,” Reginald added.
 

“Right. And we must not mention the elections. It is too uncertain. We must convince them that there is stability now, rather than more change.”
 

“So we’re presenting Timken as the leader in America, no question.”
 

“Correct.”
 

“And you’re not worried that that gives him implied power.”
 

“I cannot worry about that.”
 

“And we’re not mentioning the Ring of Fire.”
 

“Correct,” said Karl, now positioning the webcam. “Letting the humans know that many vampires believe we have a mandate from above to kill humans lest we be exterminated would be a
faux pas,
shall we say.”
 

“We seem to be lying a lot in the spirit of cooperation,” said Reginald.
 

“Don’t feel guilty about it,” said Maurice, his young-looking eyes locking onto Reginald’s. “Rest assured, they will be lying to us.”
 

Karl made a few final adjustments to the webcam and checked the settings in the videoconferencing software. Then he clicked a few places on the screen and they entered the conference, now able to see themselves in a small window in the corner of the screen. Their other party wasn’t there yet. After a few moments, Reginald got tired of waiting and turned to Karl.
 

“Do you trust Timken?”
 

“He usually seems noble and he is very — how you say? — charismatic,” said Karl.
 

That wasn’t an answer. But before Reginald could repeat his question, a new, larger window appeared on the screen. The man in the window looked far less severe than he’d appeared during the coup. His blonde hair was combed neatly instead of mussed by a helmet and his narrow face, which had been serious and convicted, looked relaxed and handsome.
 

The man on the screen smiled. “Deacon Toussant!” he said, making a small bow toward Maurice. “It is nice to finally meet you. I am Nicholas Timken.”
 

“Hello,” said Maurice.
 

“And Karl, my old friend!”
 

“It is good to see you again, Nicholas,” said Karl.

“And you,” said Timken, leaning forward and looking directly into the camera rather than at the screen of his computer, “must be Reginald Baskin. It is a great pleasure to meet you.”
 

“ ‘Sup,” said Reginald.
 

“How are things abroad?” said Timken. “Will I see you at Oktoberfest, Karl?”

“Always a good time, Nicholas.”
 

“Well,” he said, “let’s talk. I imagine you are curious about what happened yesterday.”
 

“Slightly,” said Karl.
 

“I regret that I had to take matters into my own hands. I also regret the fatalities. That was not intended. My men were to engage only if absolutely necessary, but a few in the crowd unfortunately made it necessary.”
 

“I’m curious about the weapons they used,” said Karl. “What are they, Nicholas?”
 

“They have an official name, but I call them Boom Sticks. Do you know those things doctors sometimes use to give injections without using a needle? Where they basically spray whatever it is through the skin? These work the same basic way, except that they’re far, far more powerful.”
 

“Powerful enough to go through clothes. Through skin and bone.”
 

Timken tapped his chest and there was a metallic sound indicating that he wore something under his loose shirt. “Only reinforced armor will stop it.”
 

“Where did such weapons come from?” Karl asked.
 

“I had them developed. They’re state of the art.” He smiled with self-satisfaction.
 

Karl’s eyes narrowed. “They seem expensive. And lethal.”
 

“Desperate times and deep pockets,” said Timken, chuckling. “Besides, this is America, baby. Little old ladies carry grenades in their purses here.”
 

Karl’s lower jaw rocked below his upper jaw. His eyes were still serious, still penetrating the image on the screen.
 

“Look,” said Timken, taking a breath. “I’ll be straight with you. I started developing these right after the Ring of Fire. I thought there might be chaos. I wanted to be prepared. My company has provided me with a substantial amount of spendable funds, so I built a shelter and I purchased supplies. But swords and stakes and even wooden or silver bullets simply wouldn’t be effective enough if there were riots. I wanted to defend myself. I was scared, to tell you the truth. And so when Barkley started calling the shots and things slowly went to shit in the streets, I found myself with a lot of supplies and a bunch of like-minded survivalist friends, and I saw a mission that needed to be undertaken. And you, Deacon —” His eyes moved to Maurice’s side of the screen. “— were being persecuted and unable to command the armies we had, which shamefully abandoned their posts and went rogue. You couldn’t protect the Nation, and I could. I tried peaceful means first; I really did. Karl
knows
I did. But they wouldn’t listen, and things got worse and worse, and eventually it was down to a choice between overthrow and armageddon. So I got my friends together, and we took up weapons, and we did what was necessary.”
 

“You called yourself an army.”
 

Timken made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, you know how fighters are. They enjoy a label that gives them a sense of unity.”
 

Karl’s lower jaw continued to work. He chewed the inside of his cheek. Maurice and Reginald said nothing. They were there as observers, not truly participants. This was Karl’s dance.
 

“All right, Nicholas. So what is next?”
 

“Elections, like I promised. I seized power because it was in the wrong hands, not because I wanted it for myself. I am a steward of this government’s authority, nothing else.” He opened his hands to show that he was merely a servant, there to do his duty to his species and his country. “The machinery is already in place, but I will make it better, and I’ll open it to all the scrutiny it can take so that everyone can see that it’s fair. The vampires of this country will vote in a free, open election, via Fangbook. We will elect a leader. We will restore order — not in the old, Logan-type image, but in the image of the American government.”
 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” said Reginald.
 

Reginald said it as a joke, but Timken gave him a look. “Hey, love it or leave it,” he said.
 

“And you will be a candidate?” said Karl.
 

“If the people want me. But so will you, Maurice, if you want to be. You are still the rightful authority, as far as I’m concerned.”
 

Reginald looked at Maurice. Even if he wanted to rule the Council again, there was absolutely no chance he could win a free election. Maurice was one of the most loathed vampires on the planet. His views on inclusion of “sub-standard” vampires like Reginald and his other conservative, borderline reactionary views set him well outside of the comfort zones of the young US vampire population.
 

“No thanks,” said Maurice.
 

“Then whoever,” said Timken. “The more, the merrier. Anyone who wants to be on the ballot may be on it, and we’ll let the people decide. We can guarantee a fair election. The Fangbook voting algorithm is unhackable — even by you, Mr. Baskin.” The
you-sly-dog
expression that Timken gave Reginald left no question; he knew that Reginald had hacked the “unhackable” master algorithm that used to dictate the movements of the Vampire Council, back before it had plunked itself down in the basement of the Asbury Club and decided to make itself comfortable.
 

Karl nodded.
 

“Can you attend the summit in Paris in two days’ time?” Karl asked.
 

“I can’t leave. You must understand that.”
 

“Of course,” said Karl, nodding. He didn’t want Timken to attend and knew he wouldn’t be able to, but diplomacy said that he had to make the gesture.

“I could maybe attend like this,” said Timken, pointing at his webcam. The gesture was boyish and playful.
 

“Perhaps it’s best if we vouch for you,” said Karl. “So that we can tell them our own version of events.”
 

Timken nodded, understanding the need for subterfuge. From what Karl had told them earlier, Timken wasn’t a diplomat, but he knew how the game was played — and when he should leave that game-playing to the people who knew how to play it best.

“I’m not exactly a summit kind of a guy anyway,” said Timken, smiling. His smile was as large and handsome as Walker’s, but not as insulting. It was welcoming and warm.
 

“Hmm,” said Karl.
 

“Oktoberfest is more my speed.”
 

Karl nodded.
 

“Eh, Karl?” said Timken. Big grin.

“Indeed.”
 

“But you’ll tell them that I’m here when the world needs me. That I’m keeping the Council warm for the next comer, and that in the meantime, our Nation will be ruled by order, not chaos.”
 

“I will,” said Karl. “Goodbye, Nicholas.” He gave a small nod.
 

“Cheers,” said Timken. Then he leaned forward and jabbed at something with his finger, and his window on the screen disappeared.
 

Karl exited the software, turned off the webcam, and stood. He stretched his back, putting a hand on his hips and arching his spine.
 

“He seems nice,” said Reginald.
 

“Hmm.”
 

“You don’t think so?” said Reginald.
 

“Karl doesn’t trust anyone,” said Maurice.

 
“Hmm,” said Karl.
 

TGV

TWO DAYS LATER, REGINALD, MAURICE, Nikki, and Karl left the Chateau and walked to the small Differdange train stop. The sun had almost set but was still up, low in the sky. That scared the bejesus out of Reginald and Nikki. Maurice, who’d often run to and from work just after sunrise using clothing and sometimes an umbrella to shield himself, was more sanguine. The day was overcast and the sun would set very soon, and they’d all worn special ultraviolet-repelling hoodies and gloves provided by a vampire tailor who shared shop space with a local human tailor. The hoods were very deep and Maurice assured them that as long as they stayed away from windows and remained covered, they’d be fine.
 

“Don’t be wimps,” Karl said to Nikki and Reginald. “I’m a thousand years older than you and would fry faster than you, but there is a direct TGV from Luxembourg to Paris at seven and I am sure as
scheiße
not taking a slow train because you are afraid of a sunburn.”
 

So, duly bundled, the four vampires made their way to the train stop. Maurice and Karl walked confidently through the overcast day in their garb while Nikki and Reginald sprinted from faint shadow to faint shadow. Nikki could hide in the shadows of lampposts. Reginald couldn’t hide in the shadows of anything other than buildings. He also couldn’t sprint well and kept losing time when he collapsed or ran into startled pedestrians. Karl and Maurice arrived at the stop well before Reginald and Nikki, who crept up the stairs like spies and then crouched in a bush.
 

For Reginald, it was the furthest he’d been from the Chateau since they’d arrived in Europe three months earlier. He’d ventured to the Starbucks to use the Wi-Fi to download his movies (the Chateau’s internet was pay-by-usage; the first bill after Reginald arrived had sent Karl into a rage) and to all of the local eateries that were still open after dark, which was most of them. The only restaurants he hadn’t visited were the two health food restaurants. Nikki tried to get him to go to one of these on a date (she still liked carrot juice for some reason), but Reginald had said, “Why bother, I’m already dead.” That had resulted in a fight. Nikki had gone back to the Chateau in a huff and Reginald had gone back a half hour later with three dozen donuts. He’d eaten eighteen immediately, then spent the rest of the evening complaining that he’d forgotten to get any with grape jelly inside. When Nikki protested, Reginald had told her that she’d
just
been trying to get him to eat healthier, and that grapes were a fruit. She’d tried to give him a glass of blood from the fridge. He’d refused. Knowing he was starving for the one thing a vampire needed, she then stirred blood into a cup of coffee so that Reginald could dunk his donut in it. Reginald “accidentally” spilled the blood coffee, then ran to Starbucks for a venti caramel mocha with whipped cream to replace it. He’d spent that day sleeping on a couch in one of the meeting rooms instead of in his bed with Nikki.