MisStaked (15 page)

Leopold turned away from the mirror. This night had been over twenty years in the making. He had heard rumors of the Mother for years. Almost since his first night as a lord of the undead, the whispers from the old ones danced through the air. Off and on for centuries, Leopold looked for some trace of her beyond the myths that circulated through his world.

His first bit of concrete evidence came over a century ago in the jungles of the Amazon. It was just a fragment of a name carved in a mountainside, but it was enough to further fuel his obsession. Since then, he had stumbled across other arcane references, but nothing like this tablet of Grayson's.

He might have missed it all together if Lewis hadn't set his computer to scan for such things. The professor had posted her findings on the university's web site. The fool woman didn't even know what she had found. Leopold did not suffer from such misconceptions. She had found the Mother's tomb. With everything he had learned from her, he would soon have both the Mother and the power she represented.

Leopold had even gone so far as to buy this hotel to help insure everything would proceed as planned. This game would start on his playing ground. As long as he controlled the setting, he controlled the game. Dr. Grayson would bring her motley crew to him and he would see the one who was to be his agent—his eyes among them.

Badly as he wanted to, Leopold could not join them in this venture. He would not be blind in this. He planned to be close, but not so close as to give himself away. To accomplish that, he needed someone on the inside; someone who could serve him without drawing attention to his true purpose. This get-together's sole purpose was to bring him just such an agent.

The door clicked open behind him. Good, Lewis was here. Leopold looked at his servant. The younger vampire was so subdued in his dress, Leopold almost didn't recognize him. Instead of his usual flamboyant outfits, Lewis was dressed in a conservative suit, Armani or some other bourgeois designer who these fickle moderns sought after so earnestly.

"You are late,” Leopold hissed.

"Man, it takes time to look this square,” Lewis snarled, pulling at his collar.

"Are you a reject from
Happy Days
that I have to hear the word square uttered in my presence?"

"Chill man."

"Now, you give me Huggy Bear. If I wanted to revisit the seventies, I'd watch Nick at Nite. You'd better shape up or by God I'll shove the stake in you myself!” Leopold shouted.

"Leo, you need to calm down. We still have plenty of time before this thing kicks off. You seriously need to find some bitch on Prozac and take a tug, ‘cause this shit ain't cool. Dig?” This honky was getting on his nerves. Leopold had better watch it or he'd show him what black power was all about.

Leopold waved a lace-gloved hand in Lewis’ face. “I will calm down, when I see fit to do so. Until then, you will do what I say. Do we understand each other?"

"Whatever. So what do you want?” Lewis asked, not really giving a rat's ass anymore. This suit was itchy. As soon as this was over, it was straight back to some good old polyester.

"I want you to get down there and find me a thrall amid those lackluster academicians. Try to find someone who has at least a modicum of style. I will not be represented by a dud, and I am unanimous in that,” Leopold stated with a mad gesture to illustrate his point.

Lewis gave him a thumbs-up. “You got it, Big Cheese."

"Do you have the speech I prepared for you?” Leopold inquired, nervousness overriding his anger.

Maybe Lewis was right. He was feeling a little high-strung at the moment. A little chilling out might do him some good. Now, wasn't the time though. He had to see this to the end. Then, he would cool out. Perhaps with the dishy waiter-boy.

"I got it right here.” Lewis tapped the side of his head. “Hey, Man. Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course I am, Cretin. You just do your job.” Leopold walked back to the mirror.

Lewis joined him. The room below them had filled as they had talked. Lewis watched the humans mill around like cattle. Cattle he couldn't touch, he reminded himself. Something about all that forbidden fruit called to him, despite the fact he had fed before arriving.

He chanced to look through the two-way mirror toward the door, as it popped open. The sight that greeted him had him hugging the glass. Coming through the door was the virgin. And he had the monkey and the girl with him. What were they doing here? Wait a minute. Dr. Grayson was walking up to them. They were part of the team!

How lucky could they get? This little soiree would kill two birds in one stroke. The best part was he would dump the whole thing in Leopold's lap. He was pretty sure the girl could recognize him. So, that zeroed him out of Leo's mission impossible. The old man would have to handle this one all by himself.

"Leopold, look over by the good professor,” Lewis advised.

"What is it now?"

Then, it hit him. The scent was as rich as he had ever smelled. Purity was so strong in the air it hurt to even contemplate it. He followed Lewis’ finger. At first thought he thought it was the girl, but he was mistaken. It was the man. How could a man get that old and not—well you know?

"Lewis you were right. He will do magnificently.” Leopold gasped.

"Good news, bad news. They know me by sight, so you'll have to handle the party, Boss.” Lewis loved dropping that bomb.

"Are you sure?” Leopold asked with a hint of fear in his voice.

"The girl made me at the mall. If I go down there, the jig is up, my friend,” Lewis said, deciding it was best not to remind Leopold about the fiasco at the nightclub. The time for fun and games was over, if he ever wanted to hear about something other than the Mother for the rest of his unnatural life.

"Well, damn. You know how I feel about meeting new people,” Leopold whined.

"You meet new people every night. So, don't try to cop out with that one."

"No, I meet supper every night. These...” Leopold gestured to the mirror, “people are different. They might want to, heaven forbid, talk to me. They might even try to touch me. I can't be touched by anyone who would wear denim. That's a denim crowd, if I ever saw one."

"Get a grip, Man. They're just people. God, you'd think a vampire would be less of a psycho,” Lewis cried in frustration.

"I am not psycho. I may be a little co-dependant, but that is as far as I'm willing to admit to."

"Whatever, you're going to have to get yo’ white ass down there and do the do."

"Do you really think I can do it?” Leopold asked, his eyes burning with the need for assurance.

"Man, you got this covered. You're the baddest mo fo on the planet. These humans'll be putty in your hands,” Lewis told him, hoping his old charm was working.

"You're right. What do I have to be afraid of? I'm the lord of the undead, not them. I'll do it!” Leopold shouted, his hand pumping vigorously in the air before him. He strode toward the door confidently. He stopped just short of the door and turned back to Lewis. “You'll be watching in case I need you, right?"

"You got it, Boss Man.” Lewis shook his head in disgust.

If Leopold made it through this, it would be a miracle. If Lewis still drank, he'd be on his second fifth by now. Turning away from the door, he went back to the mirror. If nothing else, this ought to be interesting.

Breathred was avoiding the shrimp. Anything that pink couldn't be good for you. If one more waiter tried to foist one of the little pukers on him, he looked like he would scream. He also appeared to be having serious doubts about the pigs in a blanket.

Luna saw the snarl cross Breathred's face as a waiter sauntered past him. This was not going well at all. Until this moment she never realized just how far his phobias went. Agoraphobia seemed to be the latest in the string, if you didn't count the shrimp.

Stud, on the other hand, reveled in the whole thing. After working his way through the buffet table, he hit the bar. She watched him slip the Mickey into the punch bowl before moving onto the Daiquiri machine. Luna wasn't sure if the combination was such a good idea, but was growing tired of playing nursemaid over the pair.

Given half a chance, Luna might have to rethink this whole girlfriend job. No chance of that happening. She had worked too hard to snag him in the first place, to allow him to get her goat so readily. Letting a few eccentricities get in the way wasn't her style. Breathred would just have to change, and that was that.

Breathred was talking to, what was his name again? Edmund Truehart. He was the anthropologist from Cambridge. Aboriginal culture was his specialty. He had some experience in Canadian digs. Dr. Grayson had made it a point to introduce him to Breathred.

Now, as she thought about it, it was kind of strange. It was almost like she expected them to have something in common. Breathred mumbled under his breath and walked away, as soon as he could. Luna had never known him to act like so weird. Sure you might have to listen to a two-hour discourse on Ewok culture, but he had never just walked away without even a little mention of
Star Wars
in general. She smelled a mystery.

Playing Velma would have to wait. Some blond floosie was angling right for him. Luna knew the type too, all boobs and mind-if-I-butt-in? Well, she wasn't having a bit of it.

"Breathred, is that you?” Luna heard the woman say from across the crowded floor.

This thing knew Breathred. Oh yes! She would look into this, and if she didn't get the right answers, somebody was going home in a body bag.

Luna cut through the crowd like a hot knife. A few of the bystanders looked at her strangely, but none were brave enough to say anything about her rudeness. College-bred people were smarter than she thought; the crowd knew a predatory woman when they saw one.

Luna snuck up behind Breathred. She came in low and slid her arm into his before he knew what was happening. Her unsuspecting boyfriend jumped at her touch. Good, let him be afraid, very afraid, she thought devilishly. The blonde raised an eyebrow but gave no other indication of her own surprise. Cold fish.

Luna gritted her teeth. “Breathy, dear. Care to introduce me to your friend?"

"Oh, Luna this is...” Breathred stumbled for a few seconds. Luna saw the confusion on his face. He kept mouthing the letter C, no J as if trying to wrap his mind around a name.

"Jessica Easily,” the blonde offered, when it became evident Breathred had forgotten his own name, as well as hers.

"I'm sure you are,” Luna hissed under her breath.

"Excuse me?” Ms. Easily asked.

Luna extended her hand. “My name is Luna Walking Batch."

"I'm sure you are."

"What the hell did you say?” This witch was one step away from one hard-assed point of no return.

"Luna! Ladies do not use that kind of language,” Breathred gasped in shock and horror.

"I'm sorry. It just, kind of slipped out,” Luna apologized, but finished to herself: like my hand is going to slip into her face.

"Well, see that it doesn't happen again."

"It won't,” she groused.

"What a delightful creature you've found yourself, Breathred,” Ms. Easily said, her voice a honey-coated indictment sent Luna seething.

"She is one of a kind. Isn't she?"

"So, how do you two know each other?” Luna asked, ready to get to the bottom of this.

"Oh, we go back, ages. Don't we, Dear?” Jessica's fake voice drove daggers through Luna's eyes.

Middle ages, Luna thought.

"If you say so,” Breathred mumbled, suddenly wanting to go home.

"We went to school together. Class of ‘92, rah, rah, rah.” Jessica broke into the lamest cheer Luna had ever heard.

Wait a minute. Breathred graduated in ‘87. What was this bitch babbling about? Luna had to get Breathred alone. He'd crack on his own, or by God she would crack him—slowly and painfully. Now, the important thing to do was to get him away from this barracuda.

Thankfully, Dr. Grayson helped her accomplish the feat by calling the crowd to order. Luna was able to lose Ms. Easily in the stampede to the raised dais that sat in the center of the ballroom. Luna gave her a snide smile as she and Breathred slid to the front of the crowd.

Dr. Grayson spoke over the hum of the assembled group. “Okay, people. It's time to meet the man responsible for all this."

"Bring him out. We need some more shrimp cocktail!” someone yelled.

"Somebody, get Rudy some coffee. I think he's had enough for the night.” Dr. Grayson laughed. “But seriously, let me hear a round of applause for the man of the hour, Leopold du Chambris Portus."

Leopold wasn't surprised to see his quarry close to the podium. He had been calling to him, since Lewis pointed the man out to him. He flashed a moderate smile to the assembly, not enough to reveal his true nature, but quite enough to endear him to them. It was the vampire's way.

He settled behind the podium, allowing time for the applause to die down to a dull whimper. Leopold realized for the most part it was forced, but accepted it all the same. After all they had come to see him.

Now as he thought about it, maybe it was a good thing Lewis hadn't done this. The last thing the young vampire needed was to think he was in charge. Lewis was in danger of assuming as much already without an audience convincing him of the fact.

Leopold paused before speaking. There was someone whispering in the back. He couldn't abide whispering. It bespoke of a poor upbringing. Worse than that, it meant someone didn't want to listen to him. To Leopold's thinking that was the most egregious of social misbehaviors to commit. He had to remember to give him a bite of his mind after tonight's proceedings.

"Well, if that wasn't the best reception I've had since the stock market shot up last quarter,” Leopold joked, waiting for the expected response.

The only thing the quip earned him was a twitter.
A twitter—these philistines had no sense of humor whatsoever
, Leopold thought. If he didn't need them, he'd kill the whole lot of them and toss them into the nearest dustbin. Teach them to not appreciate a good joke when they heard one. He'd personally stolen that one from the Trump. Bet they would have laughed, if
he'd
told it. Everyone laughed at The Donald, the bloated bastard. Apprentice this, you overblown peasant. But, he was getting off track.