Wicked Game (28 page)

He examines me as he rips. “I sense a lack of enthusiasm on your part. Tell me your concerns.”

“Well... there’s the whole becoming a vampire thing. Not my wish.”

“Not yet.” He stuffs the bagel halves in the toaster. Their ragged edges prevent them from slipping in, so he crams them down with a wooden spoon. “It’s a privilege to be made by Gideon.”

“I saw the last vampire he made. Gideon left him to starve, tossed him away like a used tissue.”

“His three bodyguards,” Ned continues, as if he hasn’t heard me, “Lawrence, Wallace, and Jacob. All his progeny.”

“So?”

“You saw what happened downstairs a minute ago. They can take whomever they want, whenever they want, as long as it’s within the rules.”

“The vampires have rules, too?”

“If they didn’t, they’d run out of food very quickly.” He counts off on his fingers. “First, to keep us healthy, the same guest can’t be drunk more than once every two weeks. For those two weeks, we wear something to keep them away.” He pulls a gold cross from under his shirt collar. “The Jews wear a Star of David, the Muslims a crescent moon. The Wiccans—we have a lot of those— wear pentagrams.”

“What about nonreligious people?”

He laughs. “Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘There are no atheists in foxholes’?” He goes back to counting the rules. “Second, after those two weeks, if a guest still doesn’t feel up to it, they can request an extension, reviewable on a case-by-case basis. One of the vampires used to be a doctor.”

“But if you don’t let them drink you, you lose points.”

A buzzing comes from the toaster—the bagel is stuck. Ned leans over and jiggles the handle until the bread pops out, singed around the edges.

“As I was saying, you’ve been given a real honor. Many of us dream of becoming vampires.” He puts the bagel on a small plate and opens the refrigerator. “Takes a long time to build up that many points. In the five years I’ve lived here, no one’s ever done it.”

“Can the guests leave whenever they want?”

“Regular or chive and onion?”

“Huh?”

“Cream cheese.” Ned’s head pokes up from behind the fridge door. “For your bagel.”

“I don’t want a bagel.”

“But I made it for you. Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want one?”

“I thought you were making it for yourself.”

He looks insulted. “That would have been incredibly rude.”

“Can the guests leave when they want?”

“Of course.” He closes the refrigerator door. “But no one ever wants to.” He smacks the counter. “I know. How about some coffee? We have a fantastic Nicaraguan blend.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Oh, I get it.” Ned grabs a mug and pours himself a cup. “You think it might be poisoned.” He takes a long sip and smacks his lips. “Mmm. Bottled water makes all the difference. Especially out here in the boonies—you never know what’s in the wells.”

I peek out the sliding door to the back porch. I can almost taste the sunshine.

“Let’s go outside.” Ned carries his cup to the door. “Could be your last chance.” He grabs a Chicago White Sox baseball cap from a peg. “The thing I’d like most about being a vampire is not having to worry about skin cancer of the scalp.” He slides the cap over his head and opens the door.

The morning’s mugginess blankets us as we cross the small wooden porch. The woman and teenager from the kitchen are sitting at a round white wrought-iron table. They avoid my eyes, but I can feel their gazes burn into me as I step off the porch into the large backyard.

“Ellie’s friendlier.” Ned gestures to the playground, where a young woman is helping a small boy navigate the monkey bars.

Ellie waves to us, then claps wildly as the child reaches the end of the row of bars. “You did it!” She sweeps him into a hug, then lowers him to the ground. His orange T-shirt hikes up over his waist as he slides against her, and I can’t help but check for bite marks. “Now go play in the sandbox while Mommy talks to Neddy. Try not to get sand down your pants this time.”

Ned introduces us. Ellie shakes my hand. “New recruit?”

“Of Gideon’s,” Ned says to Ellie, with emphasis on the vampire’s name. He turns to me. “Ask her anything.”

I search for a diplomatic yet productive question. “How did you come to be here?”

“I was on welfare.” She tucks a blonde curl back into her elastic ponytail holder. “Actually, I was about to get kicked off welfare, but I couldn’t find a job. I was selling my blood plasma for grocery money. That’s where Gideon’s folks found me.” She grins at her surroundings. “Now I get room and board, a safe place to raise my kid, and a purpose in life. Plus free hepatitis shots.”

“A purpose in life? Feeding vampires?”

“Being part of a community. Contributing.”

Ned sips his coffee. “Ellie teaches our homeschool.” My mind spins. “You have a homeschool here?”

“We can’t let these kids grow up like animals,” Ellie says with a laugh. “Though they’d have more fun that way.” She looks over at her boy. “Trevor’s still too young, but we have six other children, ranging from seven to fourteen.”

“What happens when they grow up?” I ask her. “Do they become .. . guests?” I look at Ned, suddenly tired of hiding my hostility. “Or does Gideon even wait that long to start drinking them?”

Ned folds his hands around his coffee mug in a prayer-like posture. “Gideon has great respect for family.” He bows his head slightly. “He said he told you about his son Antoine.”

I notice he hasn’t answered my question. “What’s that got to do with these kids?”

“Ciara.” Ellie sticks her thumbs in her belt loops and gives me a benign regard. “It’s in Gideon’s best interest to keep us happy and healthy.”

“Because you taste better that way. Like organic chicken.”

They don’t even blink. They just keep smiling, though now their grins are tinged with pity.

“You’ll come to understand,” Ned says.

I turn away before another insult can leave my lips.

The woman and teenager have left the porch, but a tall thin man stands just inside the sliding door. He turns quickly and disappears into the shadows of the house, allowing me to glimpse nothing more than a head of thick white hair.

I turn back to Ned. “Who was that?”

He looks past me, then shrugs. “I didn’t see anyone.”

“Me neither,” Ellie adds in a tight voice. “Could be one of the ghosts.” She laughs. “Don’t worry, they don’t bother anyone, especially not the vampires.”

I stare back at the door. Ghost or not—and my money’s on
not
—this one bothers me.

* * *

After lunch—which I didn’t eat—and the world’s most surreal game of badminton—which I didn’t play—Ned deposits me back in my room.

I find Jim sleeping on the edge of the bed facing out, leaving me plenty of space on the other side. I should suspect this sudden courtesy, but fear has exhausted me. I’ll just rest a few minutes, then move back to the floor.

I lie on my back and feel my limbs sink into the soft mattress. My eyelids sag. Maybe if I doze for a bit, I’ll be more alert later when I need to—

I jerk awake to see Jim staring at me. He’s lying on his side with his head on his hand, elbow crooked. I suppress a yelp.

“What do you want?” I say in as steady a voice as I can manage.

“I was thinking.” He runs his fingers and thumb over a fold in the bedspread between us, his eyes never wavering from mine. “If you have to become a vampire, I could make you. Right now.”

I force my muscles to hold still. “That’s okay, really.”

His dark eyebrows pinch together. “You’d choose Gideon over me?”

“No.” Probably not. “I’d choose life, hokey as that sounds.”

“But what if David doesn’t come through with the proof, or what if Gideon doesn’t accept it?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Okay.” He drops his gaze for a second, but before I can look away, he lifts it to meet mine again, mesmerizing me. “I’ve done it before.”

“How many?”

“More than I can count.”

I fight to keep my breath steady and deep. “Were they all voluntary?”

He glances at a spot of blood on his pillow. “Sometimes when I drink,” he whispers, “I get a little ... greedy.” He pauses to let that one sink into my horrified mind. “Then I have a choice—I can either turn them, or I can let them die.”

“How do you decide?”

“Whatever feels right.” Jim takes my arm and turns it over to reveal its pale underside. I want to rip it out of his grip, but I remember from Shane what fighting back will get me.

“Don’t do that.”

The firmness of my voice seems to surprise him. He lets go but doesn’t apologize.

Without taking my eyes off him, I slowly slip out of bed.

“What’s wrong?” he says.

“I’m afraid.”

He stretches one bent leg into the space I left behind. “Afraid of me?”

He wears a veneer of innocent surprise. I think of how he became a vampire while Jim Morrison sang onstage. Now he seems to be channeling the Lizard King himself.

The door swings open. I’ve never been so glad to see Lawrence.

“Six o’clock news,” he says.

He marches me and Jim quickly down the hall, then up the stairs to the basement level. The television is in commercials when we get there. Ned waves to me from the other side of the room. I look for the white-haired man I saw behind the porch screen this morning, but as
far as I can tell, Ned and I are the only humans among the dozen or so beings gathered around the TV. In addition to Lawrence, there’s the woman who drank from the man on the love seat this morning, as well as Jacob and Wallace, Gideon’s two other bodyguards.

But where’s—

“Good evening.”

I jump. Gideon’s standing right behind me. He must have followed us up.

“I trust you are well rested,” he says.

I try not to shrink as I step away from him. Jim loops a protective arm around my shoulders, an almost brotherly gesture. A few minutes ago I would’ve queased at his touch, but compared to the rest of them (even Ned), Jim seems quite human.

The commercial ends, and the news anchors turn from their phony camaraderie to face the audience. I squint at the tiny screen to see the blonde on the left—Monica something or other—deliver the latest:

“They said they were vampires, but now they’re changing their tune. Last month a local radio station brought a unique twist to the airwaves. WVMP, the Lifeblood of Rock V Roll.” Footage of Spencer playing at the Smoking Pig party appears as she continues. “The disc jockeys, who each host a show from a different era, claimed to be real vampires. Michelle Sims is live in Sherwood.”

An establishing shot of VMP’s radio tower puts a lump in my throat. The camera pans down to show the news correspondent standing outside the station with David. “Thanks, Monica. I’m here with WVMP general manager David Fetter. Mister Fetter, you’ve decided to end
the vampire promotional scheme at the peak of its popularity. Why?”

David focuses on the correspondent. “We had a few fans that took the endeavor a bit too seriously. We appreciate their enthusiasm, but when they started stalking our DJs and shaking stakes at them, we felt it was time to stop. Safety is paramount.” Despite his ironic smile, his voice sounds hollow, and not just from the TV’s ancient speaker. Less than a day ago, he pulled a stake out of the woman he loved.

The correspondent points at the bright sky.

“Can you prove they’re not really vampires?” She flashes an impish grin at the camera. “Can you bring one outside to interview?”

David shakes his head. “Right now they’re busy with production work. There’s a lot more to being a DJ than talking on the radio for a few hours.”

“This’ll only take a minute. Let’s bring one out.” She beckons the camera operator to follow her toward the front door.

David’s gaze goes sharp, then sly. “Wait.” When Michelle turns back to him, he tilts his head as if to tell her a secret. “Do you want to know the truth? The real truth?”

“Of course,” she says, eyes gleaming.

“We’re not being threatened by stake-toting slayer wannabes. The real menace is a rival gang of vampires who live in a bunker near Camp David. They think our promotion threatens the anonymity vampires need to survive.”

My jaw drops to form a capital O, as in, O Holy Shit. I don’t dare look at Gideon.

The correspondent blinks at David for a moment, then chortles. “Fascinating.” She mugs for the camera. “Tell us more.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” David says, “not without endangering us all. Believe me, you do not want to mess with these folks.”

He steps away to end the interview. Michelle catches his sleeve.

“Wait, what about—”

“No more vampire talk. It’s been fun, but now it’s time for them to go back in the coffin.” He gives her a smirk and what looks like a wink.

She laughs as she turns back to the camera. “There you have it: a vampire Mafia headquartered near Camp David. In Sherwood, I’m Michelle Sims.”

“Thanks, Michelle.” The anchorwoman raises her eyebrows at her cohost. “So would that be the jurisdiction of the FBI or the Secret Service?”

“More like the
National Enquirer”
he says. They share a lively laugh. “Now for the weather, let’s see what—”

Ned switches off the television. All eyes turn to Gideon. He strokes his chin, staring at the blank gray screen as if he expects it to give him more answers.

I clear my throat and start to sidle away. “Well, that was good for a laugh.”

Fast as a cobra, Gideon snatches the back of my neck and yanks me close. Jim reaches out to stop him, but Wallace and Jacob seize his arms.

Gideon lifts me until I’m standing on my tippy toes near his pale, perfect face. My knees turn to water, and only my state of total dehydration keeps me from losing bladder control.

He places a smooth finger against my lips. “Don’t speak,” he whispers. “I’m thinking.”

He begins to pace, dragging me along. I fight not to stumble, for fear he’ll jerk me up and snap my spine in the process.

“It’s either stupid or brilliant,” Gideon mutters. “But which? Perhaps both. They laughed, they all laughed. But they were already laughing, and even if ninety-nine people laugh, the hundredth person might wonder, might come looking . . .”