Four, p.14
Four, page 14
“Gordon Pembroke, and his lovely assistant Nicolette Tesla—at least that’s her stage name. You know, I never have met him out of drag. Well, never mind that,” Georgia said. “They are two of the few bondsmen Mr. Lambley will consent to work with.”
“Bondsmen? Like bail bondsmen?” Gail asked.
“OK, in the vampire servant world, there is also this sort of hierarchy. At the top are the retainer families like the Matsuoka. They’ve served vampires for so long that they can practically get away with murder, well, as long as they murder humans. Under them are servants or assistants with contracts, that is, me or possibly you if tonight goes well. Still, there comes a point when vampires need a specialist—a doctor, a lawyer, or even a stylist, and since you can only have a contract with one vampire at a time really—”
“Really?” Gail asked.
Georgia raised a brow. “Most vamps don’t like each other, and they certainly don’t like to share. The issue is, how can you get someone to work for any vamp and still ensure that they obey all the rules while having enough business and connections with the outside world to be good at their jobs?”
Gail started gnawing on her lip. “You have some sort of leverage over them?” she asked.
Georgia broke into a huge smile. “Bingo! If you haven’t guessed by now, or by watching most vampire fiction, vampire blood can have a controlling effect in the short term. It gets in your brain and leaves you with an infection until it is sucked back out by a vampire or your immune system kills it all off.”
She paused as Gail turned a bit green again. “I’m still getting used to vampires being an infection,” Gail said. “So they infect your brain and take control, like those fungi that control ants? And these bondsmen are like zombies?”
“Whoa, there are zombie ants?” Georgia asked. “I’m so gonna have to look that up after we are done, but no, it’s nothing so dramatic as all that. Vampires are like any other infection, you start getting better and better at fighting them off after a while, but vampiric infection has a great side effect. Vamp blood is a bit of a bully in the infectious disease world. I mean, it is like the probiotic of all probiotics. If you take enough of it, it will slow down and even cure a lot of conditions. It can add years to your life and protect someone whose immune system is all but gone.”
She trailed off and took a sip. “So, I guess ages and ages ago, some enterprising and desperate folk figured out that they could sell themselves out to vampires in exchange for a reprieve from a death sentence.”
“So they drink vampire blood and are like supermen?” Gail asked.
“They drink a bunch of vampire blood and become addicted to it. If they run out of business, they die. They have their own code, but I try to stay out of it. They run their little groups and make deals with the families. The only condition is that they have to be truly dependent on the blood and they can only charge blood for their vampire clients. Oh, and of course, if they say anything, it’s a pretty gruesome end from what I can tell.”
“So they need vampire blood to survive.”
“And they are pretty much the lowest men and women on the totem pole. Gordon and Nikki are far nicer than most.”
“So why do they need the blood? Is it . . . you know . . .?”
“It’s kinda rude to ask your hairdresser, ‘Hey, how did you end up a vampire blood addict? Did you like get AIDS or something?’ Don’t you agree?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Gail said sheepishly. “So did they actually get you guys all ready for the ball? Is that why Mr. Lambley likes them so much?”
“Of course, but it wasn’t so easy . . .”
“You both look so—so—” Gordon said as he surveyed Georgia and Geoffrey standing stiffly in the middle of their affordably priced chain hotel room. Georgia tugged at the deep neckline, while Mr. Lambley incessantly picked between his lips until a piece of off-white pointy plastic popped into his hands.
Nikki was the first to hop to her feet. “They look like Barbie and Ken gone to hell, Gordo,” she said. “I’ve seen corpses with more life.”
“Why all the doom and gloom, you two? You are the picture of formal perfection. You’d be the toast of any of the past five balls. You have A-1 couture on both of you!” Gordon paused. “Oh dear, that is totally the problem, isn’t it?”
“You can put a cheeseburger on china, but that doesn’t make it fine dining, sweetie,” Nikki said, shaking her head. “Boss man, we’ve missed the mark.”
Gordon began to pace, sizing his clients from slicked-down head to polished toe. He then strode confidently over to the vampire, lifted a few of the plastered locks of ginger, and sighed. Although the red mane had been tamed, its smooth look against his puffy, pasty face only exaggerated the image of a well-oiled swine in the moonlight. Next to him the well-painted starlet continued to frown and sweat, forming unattractive lines from eyelash to neck crease.
Gordon reached into his breast pocket and whipped out a comb. “We have, what, thirty minutes, Nikki?”
His assistant yanked out a spray bottle and some tissues. “We have an eternity. Say, Georgia-dear, I saw that you packed one other little number in your bags. What do you say we give it a try?”
“Won’t the others be offended if we aren’t traditional?” Mr. Lambley asked as he saw Gordon pull out an iridescent purple bow tie from one of his bags. “And Stefano did pay for our—”
Georgia, on the other hand, broke out in a huge grin. “Come on, Geoffrey. This is your family’s party, right? Don’t you think we should go as ourselves?” She reached over and took his hand. As she felt shockingly soft skin and nicely rounded nails, she muttered, “But I do need to find out Nikki’s secret for that.”
Mr. Lambley smiled weakly. “Well, I suppose if I’m going to be a laughingstock anyway, then I might as well be comfortable.”
“Trust me, if you’re comfortable, they won’t be able to laugh at you,” Georgia reassured him.
“Really?”
“Really. You can’t mock someone if they are confident in who they are. Just trust me, OK?”
“But—” he stammered.
“Oh, she’s right, Mr. Lambley. If you can’t be yourself, you have to pay a hell of a lot more than you are willing to pay us to fit in,” Nikki said as she rummaged through Georgia’s bag. “Get some steam on, boss man, we have wrinkles to deal with.”
Georgia squeezed her boss’s hand again. “Come on, Geoffrey,” she said. “You’re a Pendragon, remember? This is your night.”
“Half an hour till sunset, chop chop!” Gordon cried.
Geoffrey nodded. “I’m a Pendragon, and this is my bloody night!”
“Damn right,” Georgia cheered him on, but before she could say another word, the force of nature that was Nicolette Tesla grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into the bathroom—already unzipping her current frock before the door could even be shut. Georgia looked into the mirror as her shoulders slipped fully into view, and while she couldn’t see her date turning red from his vantage point on the bed, she could certainly hear his gasp.
Exactly twenty-nine minutes later, Nikki shoved a completely different woman into the back of the chartered limo. The last few traces of sunlight kept Mr. Lambley inside for a few minutes more. Georgia wiggled her toes, which were now tucked into a much more dancing-friendly pair of sandals, smiling at the bright blue polish her new companion had managed to get on and dry on twenty nails with little more than pinpoint accuracy and an industrial-strength hair dryer. The only item that had stayed put was the sparkling diamond choker because, as Nikki had said so eloquently, “Bling is definitely the thing.”
“These are awesome fakes,” Georgia mused as she tilted her head back to get a better look at her reflection in the wall of glass that separated her from the driver. She tousled her hair once more, enjoying just how delightfully, purposefully, messy Nikki had managed to make her pixie cut, and marveled at what a few dozen less layers of makeup did for her skin. She squiggled under her lacy, gauzy wrap that Nikki had improvised from one of her Cher costumes that she happened to have stashed in her trunk. Finally, as the last traces of the sun dipped below the horizon, the limo door opened once more, and a wild-haired, purple silk shirt-wearing, velvet jacket-clad creature of the night slipped into the seat next to her. He smiled, showing off his comforting gap-toothed grin.
“Oh my,” he said as he surveyed her ever so closely.
“Is that a good oh my, or a dear god sort of oh my?” she replied.
“Why you look like—” His pale eyes darted off to the side as he chewed a bit on his lip. “Holly Berry! Yes, just like her.”
“Did you just call me a Christmas decoration?”
Geoffrey’s eyebrows furrowed as the limo started to move. Georgia rolled down the window to wave at the beaming pair of bondsmen who were grinning proudly and holding hands as they watched their creations leave.
“You know, the woman in the movies with the same hair,” he said, still too lost in thought to wave as well.
“Oh, Halle Berry.” Georgia sighed as she nudged him until he too gave a little wave to the people who had spent the greater part of an afternoon slaving away in a cramped motel room.
“Yes, Holly Berry, of course,” he said quickly as they waved their final farewells. Gordon nodded as he raised his cooler full of payment in respect. “I certainly got a pint and a half’s worth, it seems,” the vampire said as the window rolled up.
He rubbed his wrist a few times until Georgia pulled his hand away. “Leave the bandage on for the trip,” she snipped. “Remember, you don’t heal instantly when you’re a pint down.” She then pulled a sippy cup out of her purse and handed it over.
“I don’t like type A,” he grumbled as he took a tiny taste. “And I think this person was Irish.”
“Wow, racism in a cup,” Georgia sighed. “Look, it was all Gary had this week, so you can have this, or you are going to be stuck with whatever party food your family has on tap tonight. Do you want to risk it?”
The vampire sank back in his seat, pouting as he took the first few sips. Eventually hunger took over, and he began contentedly sucking away as their limo eased out of the parking lot. Georgia took a moment to play with the seat warmer and individual AC controls until the minibar fridge caught her attention. Once she had thoroughly exhausted each and every button, gadget, and gizmo, she turned back to verify that her charge had indeed finished his much-needed breakfast.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Georgia,” he said before gnawing on his lip. “I’ve skipped so many recently. I don’t want them to see me like this—”
She gently squeezed his hand. “At least you won’t be confused for the catering,” she comforted with a weak little laugh. “All we have to do is make it through one night, right?”
He nodded a little too quickly. “Yes, just one night. Oh, before I forget, there is one ever-so-important thing you must remember.”
“Now might be a good time to tell me,” she said as she noticed the time they had already spent in the car. Her phone listed the venue as only being twenty minutes from the motel in light traffic.
“Whatever you do, don’t mention Mordred,” Geoffrey warned earnestly.
“Mordred? Like, um, that guy from the story of King Arthur?” she asked.
The vampire nodded vehemently.
“Um, it’s not exactly something that comes up in everyday conversation,” she sighed. “Wait a second, am I missing something?”
“It’s a Pendragon-hosted gala tonight. Since my parents are presenting and they are direct descendants of our founder, it would be in exceptionally bad taste to mention the name of the traitor that almost had our entire bloodline eliminated as kin killers.”
“And what exactly does that have to do with King Arthur again?” She clicked her tongue a few times as she furrowed her brows. “Oh, hold the phone—”
The vampire responded by grabbing for his cell. “Do I need to call someone?” he asked in a hushed whisper.
“Pendragon?” Georgia repeated. “You mean that you literally have the name Pendragon, and it’s not just some hey, rah, British legendary callback sort of name?”
“I don’t quite follow your idiom,” Geoffrey said. “One of my sires, Lorcan, was bitten by Arthur, son of Uther, founder of the Pendragon family.”
“Arthur—King Arthur was your grandpa?” Georgia asked, once more bursting into giggles. “You’re putting me on, aren’t you?” She trailed off as she saw a frightfully serious look on her boss’s face all of a sudden. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“Quite some time ago, long before I was born, our founder was murdered—stabbed in the back by one of the vilest traitors in vampire history. Mordred committed the ultimate sin and not only killed one of our kind, but his own father, at the Battle of Camlann. He was eventually slain by his younger blood brother Lorcan, but it’s all very sordid business, and discussing it is an easy way to turn a night ugly. Even mentioning his name is considered a vulgarity among the Western families.”
“I’m still a little hung up on King Arthur not only being real, but a vampire—”
“What, you thought it was water in the Grail?” Geoffrey scoffed. “Now who’s being silly? Anyway, I forgot to warn you.”
“Just how old is your father?”
“He celebrated his eighteenth back in the eighties. It was an amazing spectacle,” Geoffrey said. “They actually found an entire choir . . . Why do you look so confused?”
“You said you’re over two hundred years old, but your father is eighteen. I was never that good in math, but something doesn’t add up.”
“Well, it’s rather like you do with your own young, isn’t it? You count months until they are a year old, and then you switch into something more suited to the scale of your life span.”
“Oh, he’s eighteen centuries, isn’t he?”
“Indeed!” Geoffrey said. “Mother turns fifteen in just a few years, but if you say anything about her age, she is liable to kill you with a glare . . .”
“King Arthur, really?” Gail asked incredulously.
Georgia raised her hands into a semblance of a scout’s salute. “I swear,” she said with a laugh before taking another drink. “Believe me, I thought it was crazy too, but after some of the other crazy shit I’ve seen, it kinda becomes normal after a while. I mean, the legendary King Arthur is totally different, but the founder of the Pendragon clan was named Arthur and had an offspring named Mordred who killed him, and it’s the vampire legend that one day Arthur will return and lead them.”
Gail burst out laughing and took another drink herself. “Was Lancelot at the party?” she asked.
“Oh no, as far as I’ve heard, and this is just rumors, mind you, he was a human and died centuries ago after totally having an affair with Arthur’s also human sweetie, and that might have something to do with our whole legend.”
“So, you’re killing me with suspense! What happened at the ball?” Gail asked again.
Georgia kicked up her feet and took a deep satisfying breath. “Well, I got to meet Mr. Lambley’s friends and family at last, and believe me, nothing can quite prepare you for that . . .”
9
The limo rolled through a set of gates straight out of a Hollywood horror movie, complete with pointy finials and marble statues lining the pebble drive. The eerie atmosphere faded slightly when Georgia could see cheerful beds of mounded flowers and a gazebo of twinkling lights as they rounded the bend. Indeed, the Georgian mansion hiding behind a wall of trees, with its bright white columns and dainty hedgerows, seemed more like an escapee from Pride and Prejudice rather than the Amityville Horror.
Their car joined a procession of idling black vehicles as a rather gaunt older man in a tuxedo and spectacles continued to motion all the other servants to hold as he kept moving some sort of device all around the front lawn.
“What on earth is he doing?” Georgia asked as they rolled to a halt.
“In the old days, they would just walk out an animal to make certain that the sun was fully set, but now the head man has one of those fancy little devices that can tell if it’s safe to be outside,” Geoffrey said. “Oh, and the dogs are out too.”
Georgia peered over her boss to see a trio of all-white German shepherds sniffing around each vehicle in front of the house. One began to bark furiously at a silver Rolls Royce until the driver was forced to open the trunk and let out a woman that was still dribbling red from her neck.
“Seriously, will they ever learn?” Geoffrey scoffed. “This is a strictly catered affair.”
A pair of young men in plain black suits came to escort the rather pale young lady toward a smaller house on the edge of the property. The sign, marked “Deliveries and Catering,” made Georgia shudder. Her unease continued as a very large canine slammed against her window and began yowling.
As she squealed and hopped away, she found herself actually sitting on her master’s lap, which made for quite the image as his window rolled down and one of the servants began peering intently at the flushed girl sliding back onto her own seat.
“This is a catered event,” the man at the window said flatly.
“Oh, she’s my servant and my date,” Mr. Lambley said with glee. “She’s under my protection. Georgia dear, let them sniff you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just let them sniff you. That way they will know that I haven’t been feeding off you,” he said.
She gingerly stuck her hand out the window. The white fluffball sniffed her a few times and sat down, satisfied that Miss Sutherland was not on the menu tonight. She also lifted the key that had been tucked into the bodice of her dress. “See, I serve Mr. Lambley,” she said. “He gave me the key to his place and everything.”
The tuxedoed guard looked back to the man in pince-nez frames, and after a quick dismissive nod, the dog was led away and their limo was waved toward the grand red carpet procession. Georgia strained to catch a glimpse of the few groups who were being escorted toward the door now that it was deemed safe to let the creatures of the night into the open air.
