Fat Vampire Value Meal (Books 1-4 in the series) (39 page)

They will see what they want to see,
he’d told her.
That’s the blindness of those at the top of the food chain. The predator is the one with guile. Nobody expects the prey to have guile, but a smart sheep will outsmart a blind wolf any day of the week
.
 

Time after time, Reginald had relied on the arrogance of others above him on the food and command chains to save him. He was fat. He was weak. He was slow. How could poor old Reginald ever be a threat to those big, bad vampires? But this time,
he’d
been the blind one. This time,
he’d
been on top, sitting by the Deacon’s side in a position of power. This time, Charles and the Council had been the ones under someone’s thumb, like subservient sheep. And like any smart, wily underdog, the Council had pulled a fast one by doing exactly the opposite of what the top dog expected.
 

“You made a mistake?”
 

“I thought Charles and the Council wanted power. I thought they wanted to find a way to overthrow you, so I watched carefully for power-grabbing legislation. But then I re-read the text of last week’s Council activity the other day, and I realized that I’d missed something — a clever ploy that voluntarily
diminished
the Council’s power.”
 

“What are you talking about?”

Reginald looked up.
 

“Council passed a new law. It slipped right under our noses, just as it was designed to do. The law does not in any way reduce the power of the Deacon, but instead greatly reduces the power of the Council. Specifically, it limits the Council’s power to that of
proposing
laws, and gives the power for
voting
on laws entirely over to the populace, instead of to the Council.”
 

“So?”

“Specifically, it gives Council’s old voting power to the only collective representation of the Nation’s will that exists: Fangbook ‘Likes’ now tally up as votes. The language is very simple. It says that the Council proposes, and that the decision whether to make that proposal into a law is decided entirely by Fangbook.”

“And my veto power?”
 

“Your veto power is over the Council’s decisions. You have no dominion over Fangbook’s decisions.”
 

Maurice’s shoulders rose and fell. He was watching something on the table that Reginald couldn’t see, or that didn’t exist.

“So the office of Deacon now means nothing, as far as voting is concerned.”
 

“That’s right. This change means that you’re now just a symbolic figure. You’re like the queen.”
 

Maurice picked up his chalice while holding his pinky out, like the queen sipping tea. He made little old lady noises. Nikki watched him, not laughing. Nobody thought it was funny, so Maurice put the chalice down.
 

“So we need to appeal to the masses,” said Maurice. “We’ve become a democracy. Is that terrible?”
 

“Yes,” said Nikki and Reginald at the same time.

Maurice already knew that, of course. The Vampire Nation didn’t track approval ratings on its Deacon, but if it had, Maurice’s would be under fifteen percent by Reginald’s calculation. Most of the young Nation considered him a throwback with ideas that were old and unhip. They considered him reactionary, and many considered him a sellout. They didn’t like Reginald any better — partially because he’d dethroned a Deacon who in the eyes of most had greatly improved the standards and quality of the Nation’s population, and partly because he was such an embarrassment to their kind. The loose coalition of busybodies that functioned as the vampire media easily swayed public opinion against him, against Maurice, and against all that they represented. It was common belief that Maurice’s and Reginald’s actions were what had brought on the wrath of the angels in the first place, leading to the species-threatening “Ring of Fire” detente that existed currently. It would be impossible for any of them to rally public support… and right now, all that terrified public wanted to do was to kill and turn until their angel overlords came down to pat them on their heads and tell them that they’d done a good job.

“They can do anything now,” said Maurice.
 

“Yes,” said Reginald, “they can.”
 

M
ISSING

DINNER — IF THAT’S WHAT IT was called when four vampires drank blood while another gorged himself on pie — concluded on a mediocre note.
 

As was Maurice’s tendency, he quickly dismissed the implications of the Council’s new “given away” power and began making jokes. Celeste tried to goad him into an appropriately doomed mood, but nobody had the energy to keep pace with Maurice’s talent for apathy. He’d been alive for over two thousand years, and disinterest had gotten him this far. Nikki told everyone (after a suitable period of exasperation at the Deacon’s juvenile behavior) that maybe Maurice was right, and that their worrying and feeling distraught tonight wasn’t going to make any difference. Maurice, seeing victory, said something about going with the flow. Reginald was tired from eating an entire cheesecake.
 

So for the remaining time they had, Maurice insulted Charles’s style and haircut and demeanor, all of which were easy targets, and wondered about the whereabouts of the incubus Altus, who’d vanished after it was revealed that he was ten-year-old Claire’s father.
 

“Eleven-year-old, now,” said Reginald. “She had a birthday last week.”
 

Even though Reginald wasn’t related to Claire, he
had
tried very hard to feed on her when they’d first met, and she
had
saved him from starvation by giving him a bloody steak, and she
had
been threatened repeatedly by vampires thanks to her association with Reginald, so they’d formed an odd kind of kinship. He really should have visited her before now, and probably should have gotten her a present. He made a mental note to do it as soon as possible. Tomorrow it was really more important to attend the Council meeting — seeing as the world was falling apart and all — but after that, it was Claire time for sure.

Before Reginald and Nikki left, leaving a margin large enough to get home before the sun rose (Maurice kept forgetting they had to drive due to Reginald’s inability to run faster than a ten-minute mile), Nikki asked about her intense thirst.
 

“Reginald is right,” said Maurice. “It’s probably blood ties. Some vampires feel it more than others.”
 

“But Reginald doesn’t have blood lust. He only has lust for taquitos. And you don’t seem to have much blood lust, either.”
 

“Well,” said Maurice, “My age plus the fact that I’m your maker’s maker gives you a deep well of vampire history to draw from. You could be getting your hunger from any of those who are related to me. Blood isn’t just about proximity on the family tree. It’s kind of like the random toss that happens with genes, so you never know who your blood will end up being close to. You might feel my maker’s maker in your blood at the same strength as you’d feel Reginald… who you’ll
always
feel in your blood, by the way, because he is your maker.”

“I will also permit you to feel me directly,” Reginald told Nikki, tossing his head seductively.

“I have a lot of brothers and sisters,” said Maurice, and
they
all have progeny. Right now, most of those vampires are probably killing several humans a day, drinking them dry, fun stuff like that.”
 

Nikki gave her head a slow, exasperated shake.
 

“You don’t have to give in to the thirst, Nikki. You don’t
need
more blood. It’s not unlike being influenced by your mother’s opinion of what you do with your life. You can feel those impulses, and you can be driven to thirst by them, but whether or not you indulge them is always up to you.”
 

Nikki sighed. “I thought I was done with willpower and dieting.”
 

“Or you can drink as you’ve been drinking, and nobody will judge you,” Maurice added. “Believe me, sentiment has changed a lot over the years. For a while in my youth, it was considered normal and fashionable to chain humans up and farm them for blood. It seems horrid now, but at the time, it was simply considered normal, not unlike keeping a cow for its milk.”
 

But Nikki wouldn’t want to hear about giving in. Now that Maurice had told her that she could choose to accept or ignore her thirst, she’d fight tooth and nail against it. Nikki sought out difficult and counterculture things to do, just to do them. As a human, Nikki had never taken her needs as gospel. She disliked the idea that she was a slave to her body’s need for sleep and food, so she routinely denied herself one or the other or both for extended periods of time, just to show her body and the world who was boss, and who was in control.

They went home and slept, and throughout the next early evening, Reginald watched as Nikki fought what seemed to be an unfathomable thirst.
 

“Jesus, Nikki,” said Reginald. “This is hard to watch. Let me order you a pizza girl or something.” He picked up the phone, but Nikki waved him away.
 

“Put that phone down.”
 

“You’re so clearly uncomfortable,” he said. “A snack won’t hurt.”
 

Nikki had been pacing the room. She became a blur and appeared in front of Reginald, holding his shirt by the collar.
 

“
Stop. Enabling. It,
” she said.
 

Then, as if snapping out of a trance, she blinked, gave her head a small shake, and let go of Reginald’s collar as if she hadn’t realized she’d been holding it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and resumed pacing.
 

Reginald wanted to tell her that what she’d just done proved just how on edge she was and argue that she should at least top herself off, but she would almost certainly take it the wrong way. As much as she loved Reginald, she hated his lack of restraint. “Just one more won’t hurt” could have been carved on Reginald’s tombstone, back when he might someday have needed one.

“If I give in, I’ll just be feeding it,” she said. “If I hold out, I can break it. Like a fast. After you fast for a while, you stop being hungry as you begin to master your body.”
 

And that’s why she did the things she did, he knew.
Control
.

Nikki had lived a life in which she’d had very little control. Her parents had both committed suicide, she’d been raised by a somewhat disinterested extended family, and she’d fallen into a directionless existence before finding Maurice in her teens. Her whole life, up into her twenties, had been spent in a tailspin. The main reason she’d dedicated years to vampire training had probably been because she wanted to know what it felt like to finally hold the reins. Fasting and sleep deprivation were just two more ways in which she proved that she wasn’t willing to be at the unquestioned will of anything for long.
 

Reginald shrugged and opened a bag of Cheetos. Then he proposed a game of chess to give Nikki something to focus on other than her thirst, and she goaded him the whole time about how he’d rather play chess with his hot girlfriend than have sex with her. So he proposed having sex, and she laughed at him because he actually said “propose,” and then the idea got lost and so they played chess, and Reginald let her win, as he did about a quarter of the time.
 

Before they knew it, it was time to head to their scheduled rendezvous with the Vampire Council Escorts. Maurice arrived at Reginald’s house, and all three piled into Reginald’s car for the trip.

The pickup spot was on the Ohio State University campus, behind a defunct bagel deli. Nikki couldn’t stop talking, so she repeatedly expressed her reservations about putting herself in the hands of the Council, seeing as it was standard to be blindfolded and bound when in transit.
 

“You’ve just become powerless,” she said to Maurice. “They can kill you the minute we arrive, because they all hate you and have hated you for forever, and because it no longer matters anymore who succeeds you as Deacon. Or they might kill
us
,” she said, gesturing at herself and Reginald. “Maybe now, they can do it openly, because Fangbook said it was so.”
 

“There’s been no new legislation, and nothing more ominous than usual on Fangbook,” said Reginald.
 

He’d stayed up and read the past six months of Council proceedings several times during the last day, and he’d spent hours analyzing traffic and sentiment across all areas of Fangbook having anything whatsoever with the Council, with the Ring of Fire, or with Deacon Toussant and his fat sidekick. He’d studied with an angry scowl on his face. The way the net had been cast over Maurice made Reginald feel like he’d failed, which of course he had. He had the best strategic mind in recent vampire history, but that hadn’t stopped the Council from driving right through his blind spot.
 

“They’ll kill us,” said Nikki, pacing the small alley. The wall on one side was a solid red, with a huge black swath curling through its middle. It reminded Reginald of blood and doom.
 

“They’re not going to kill us,” said Reginald.
 

“How can you be sure?”
 

“I’m sure,” he said quietly.
 

Maurice pulled his phone from his pocket, then looked around furtively. He looked very nervous.
 

“It’s 12:02,” he said.
 

Reginald stopped watching Nikki. His head snapped toward Maurice, then jerked around the small alley as if he thought he might simply have missed a huge black Council Escort SUV that had been there all along. All he saw were dumpsters and a battered Ford Tempo in a small alcove off of the alley, parked in front of a fire escape. He reached into his pocket and fished out his own phone. 12:02.