Suck It Up and Die (20 page)

“Good idea,” Morning mumbled as he turned so Armando couldn’t see him blanch.

When it was his turn in the stink box, Morning’s worst fears came to pass. Even though he knew every fact about the accelerants, from acetone to turpentine, his nose only nailed two of the smells that wafted from the first eleven
canisters Clancy opened. Sure, he aced the properties of those two accelerants, but you can’t recite a chemical’s explosive limits, vapor density, and ignition temperature if you don’t know what it is, or guess the wrong one.

When Clancy lifted the last canister, he was wearing an evil grin. It was both from watching Morning blow it and knowing what he was about to unleash. Clancy yanked off the lid; the smell of rotten eggs filled the shed. It was so strong it even wrinkled Morning’s dull nose.

“Carbon disulfide,” Morning muttered, knowing it was too little too late. “Explosive limits, one-point-three to fifty percent; vapor density, two-point-six; ignition temperature, a very low two hundred and twelve degrees.”

“Nice finish,” Clancy chortled, “but you just stunk up the stink box.”

As Morning tried to think of an excuse Clancy might buy, his mind was invaded by a barely audible voice singing, “All we are saying is give peace a chance.” At first, he thought it was his foggy brain making a desperate stab at humor to appease Clancy. But he heard it again: “All we are saying—” He bolted out of the shed.

Running toward a classroom building, Morning followed the “All we are saying” ringtone curling from an open window. He couldn’t believe it. His nose had totally crashed, but he could hear his phone ringing from his backpack in the classroom. And it wasn’t just anyone’s ringtone. It was Portia’s.

He whipped into the classroom, snatched up his backpack, and ripped out the singing phone. “Hello!”

“Hello, Morning.”

He deflated. It was Birnam.

“I figured you might not answer,” he explained, “so I
hacked into your cell and borrowed your favorite ringtone. We need to meet.”

Morning was stunned. After months of staying out of sight, Birnam suddenly wanted a face-to-face. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing much,” Birnam said, “just the little war between Congresswoman Wallace and DeThanatos that’s threatening everything we’ve worked for.”

Birnam’s sarcastic tone was another surprise. Morning had never heard the president of the IVL, the great eternal optimist, do caustic.

“Meet me tomorrow after school,” Birnam added. “Four p.m., at the Met Museum of Art, in the Medieval Gallery.”

“Mr. Birnam,” Morning blurted, “I just lost my sense of smell.”

Birnam grunted. “Hmm. Another reason we need to meet.”

As Morning hung up, Clancy barged into the classroom. He skidded to a stop, wearing a sadistic leer. “Well, look who’s rackin’ up the screwups. You’ve just been CPBed, McCobb. That cell phone’s busted!” He forked two fingers at Morning. “And that’s two more demerits. You know what that means?”

Morning swallowed. “No, sir.”

“You’ve hit tipping-point demerits! You, my pathetic hose weenie, are on
probation
!” He moved closer, with one of the evilest expressions Morning had ever seen on a Lifer. “One more violation and you fly outta here with my boot up your ass. And trust me, McCobb, you
will
screw up.”

Washington Square was jammed with goths, the curious, and media awaiting the appearance of the spokesman for the first website to have ever been “staked” into silence. Portia, Cody, and Zoë were there too, ready to shoot.

DeThanatos showed up at eight on the dot from an odd direction. He dropped through the haze of light above the square, steering a parachute. As heads and cameras tilted, he worked his chute and landed on top of the rectangular arch in the square. He tossed off the harness and unfurled a long black cape. The goths in the crowd cheered his Dracula-wear.

He spread his arms, revealing the cape’s red lining. “Good
eeevening
,” he intoned in perfect Bela Lugosi-ese. The goths shouted their approval. He flashed a charming smile as he dropped the cape and the accent. “Forgive my imitation. I’m no Dracula, I’m just the Leaguer spokesman for a website that was shut down faster than a human
rights website in Iran.” The crowd booed and hissed. “That’s right! They can’t shut
you
down, and they can’t shut
me
down!” He let the following cheer subside. “First, I want to thank you for coming.” His eyes found Portia in the throng. “I know, in these busy times”—he gave her a flirtatious wink—“how easy it is to get tied up.”

His words sent a chill through Portia, pebbling her skin with goose bumps. But, she reassured herself, she was safe in a crowd.

DeThanatos returned his attention to the throng. “I’m here to tell you that Becky-Dell Wallace is right: vampires
do
have a hidden agenda.” A hush fell over the square. “But before I reveal our true agenda, I must expose the falsehoods Luther Birnam has spread in his effort to prove to the world that Leaguers are harmless.” The hush was replaced with a murmur of puzzlement. “One, he claims all vampires descended from a ‘Mother Forest’ in California. False. Do you want the truth?”

“Yeah!” burst from the crowd.

Portia turned to Cody, behind his camera. “Getting this?” Cody nodded vigorously.

“Mortals have had the drop on vampires for hundreds of years,” DeThanatos intoned. “We
are
the undead. We
rose
from our graves. And our oldest ancestors didn’t come from some California woodland. We came from Transylvania!”

The gathering erupted in a cheer.

Zoë almost peed her pants with excitement. “I knew it!”

DeThanatos raised his arms for quiet. “I reveal these truths in the spirit of full disclosure. But none of them are the greatest falsehood Birnam has spread in his effort to whitewash our race, to turn us into fangless do-gooders
with the bloodlust sucked out of us!” His voice rose over the booing and hissing. “Do you want the truth?”

“Yeah!”

“I can’t hear you,” he appealed, cupping a hand to his ear.

“Yeah!” the crowd boomed.

“A vampire CDing into a leech to wet-vac human blood is more than a medical procedure. Vampower.com is more than a dating service for Lifers who want to bleed Leaguers in need. They answer a
vampire
need!” The throng bellowed its approval as he continued. “It is a need that Birnam refuses to acknowledge. It is a need that belongs to our sacred cultural tradition. If you can give Native Americans the right to hunt an endangered whale in the name of cultural tradition, you can give Leaguers the right to hunt a little human blood in the name of cultural tradition. But we’re not asking to kill; we’re merely asking to
fulfill
! Our vein-breaking won’t be
lawbreaking
. Our vessels won’t be victims! They’ll be volunteers helping us to reclaim our birthright!”

The crowd roared. Cody kept shooting. Portia’s face was a mask of shock and fear. Zoë was enraptured.

DeThanatos spread his cape again. “Let Birnam try to convince the world we have conquered bloodlust! Let him try to be a slayer of our cultural heritage! And let Becky-Dell Wallace scream ‘Bloodsucking fiends!’ till she’s blue enough in the face to drink! But I am here to throw down the cape of our true agenda!” The open cape suddenly dropped to his feet. “I am here to start a movement! I am here to take back the bite!”

The crowd let loose a delirious howl.

DeThanatos spun and snapped into a giant bat,
unfurling a six-foot wingspan. As the bat took flight, something white flashed in its talons. It dive-bombed the crowd. Most screamed with delight, a few shrank in horror.

Watching the bat’s shiny black eyes race toward her, Portia was locked in a straitjacket of fear. As the bat’s snout opened, she stared into its widening black maw. Cody yanked her down. The bat shot over them with an earsplitting shriek and a flash of white.

Zoë would have turned to watch the bat soar into the haze of light if she hadn’t been mesmerized by the white card that had just stuck to her chest. She plucked the card from her vest and read the first line.

“Are you all right?” Cody implored, giving Portia a shake.

Zoë stuffed the card in her back pocket before she could read more or Cody or Portia saw her prize.

Portia found her voice. “I’m okay.” She shook off the brain-lock that had gripped her, and turned to Cody. “Did you get that last shot?”

His face scrunched with disbelief. “No, I didn’t want a shot of a bat taking your head off. We’re not making the next
Final Destination
.”

“Never worry about me,” Portia fumed. “Always get the shot!” She spun and pushed through the crowd. “I need a director of photography, not a damsel protector!”

Stunned, he watched her go. “Jeez, what’s eating her?”

Zoë was so fixated on the card burning in her pocket, the words popped out of her mouth. “She and Morning broke up.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oops!”

Cody arched a brow. “Oh, really?”

Zoë swallowed. “Oh, crap.”

In the St. Giles common room, Sister Flora had just seen the coverage of DeThanatos’s appearance. She flicked off the TV in disgust. “ ‘Take back the bite’? What on earth is he up to?”

Morning sat in a corner chair studying a textbook. “It looks like he’s working on a different kind of turning.”

“What’s that?”

“Turning the majority of Americans for the VRA into a minority.”

“Are you going to do something about it?”

Morning hadn’t told Flora about his breakup with Portia, or about being one demerit away from being expelled from the academy. It was another reason for him not getting involved. “As long as DeThanatos doesn’t mess with Portia,” he said, “I’m staying out of it. Besides, it looks like he’ll have his hands full fighting Becky-Dell. Portia and I thought we destroyed DeThanatos once, now maybe someone else will get the job done.”

His indifference puzzled Flora. “What about Birnam? Why is he letting things get so out of hand?”

“Maybe I’ll find out tomorrow. I’m meeting him at the Met.”

She gave him a startled look. “Really?”

Morning went back to his book. “Yeah, but he’s been such a no-show, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Becky-Dell was just pulling back the covers on her four-poster bed when she heard a crinkling in the hall. She turned as DeThanatos, wearing the borrowed hazmat suit again, strode into the room.

She instinctively crossed her arms over her chest even though she was wearing a nightgown. “Do you mind?”

DeThanatos flicked a hand at a robe lying over the back of an armchair. The robe flew across the room, and Becky-Dell, despite her shock, caught it.

“Sorry for busting in so late,” he explained, “but I had to fly down from New York, and this is the only safe place we can meet.” He took in the luxuriously appointed room with its antique furnishings and brocade curtains. “Believe it or not, I’m not comfortable with this myself.”

“Why’s that?” she asked, cinching the robe tight.

“I rarely use a bedchamber for a conference room. It’s usually my stun-and-kill box.”

As he sat in an armchair, Becky-Dell resisted the urge to pluck the revolver from her bedside drawer, especially since she now had two reasons to shoot him: he was an intruder, and his clinical indifference was an insult to her female vanity. But she knew bullets wouldn’t hurt him. She fired
sarcasm instead. “I suppose I should thank you for making my bedroom the exception.”

DeThanatos chortled, not missing the umbrage she had taken of his remark. “No need, it’s all part of redefining my notion of prey. But after centuries of vanquishing beautiful women such as yourself,” he added with a smoldering look, “stalking a pathetic pack of Leaguers doesn’t come with the same thrill of the hunt.”

She acknowledged his flirtation with a frown and sat in the armchair facing his. “I’ll give you this, Mr. DeThanatos, in the past twenty-four hours we’ve certainly ratcheted up mortal-vampire tensions. MOP was flooded with callers wanting to join; our website was so overwhelmed it crashed and had to be upgraded to more capacity.”