Suck It Up (5 page)

AN APOLOGY

“We're human beings with the blood of a million savage years on our hands. But we can stop it. We can admit that we're killers, but we won't kill today.”

—Captain James T. Kirk

On behalf of all Leaguers, the IVL offers this apology. We deeply regret the pain and suffering vampires have inflicted on mortals over the centuries. We are not the first people to have practiced blood cannibalism, nor shall we be the last. This in no way excuses our barbaric behavior in the past. But the past is not prelude to the future. We are a changed race. We have seen the evil of our ways, defanged ourselves (through a strict program of Bloodlust Management), and will never drink human blood again.

That said, and in the interest of full disclosure, we admit there are a few—less than a hundred—Loner vampires in the world who have not rejected the old ways. We're working on them. In the meantime, be assured that Loners are so rare that the chance of being bitten by one is less than the chance of being bitten by a shark, or winning the Mega Millions jackpot.

7

Penny Dredful

After Birnam went over a few more details about his mission, Morning, exhausted from a day of surprises, fell into a deep sleep. Birnam had another Antelope O-Negative and immersed himself in his favorite card game: solitaire.

As the jet banked over the southern tip of Manhattan, Morning's eyes blinked open. He stared out the window. The setting sun gilded the towering buildings. Passing over the spiky golden crown of the financial district, he imagined he was looking down on a great tree, with its glass leaves burning in autumn glory. Then the tree's gaping flaw slid into view—the pit of shadows where the World Trade Center towers had once stood. Seeing the wound still there, after so many years, jarred him awake.

Morning remembered 9/11 all too well. He'd been nine. The Saturday before the fateful day, Sister Flora drove him from his group home on the Lower East Side, the St. Giles Group Home for Boys, to a foster home in New Jersey. He spent the weekend with his new foster family. Then, on Tuesday, the towers fell, along with his new foster father. Unhinged by grief, the mother couldn't separate the arrival of Morning and the death of her husband. As soon as Sister Flora could get across the river, she fetched Morning. He rode on the wave of rescue workers, EMTs, and firefighters rolling into the city.

In the days that followed, he watched them work the mountain of destruction like a colony of heroic ants. He followed every detail of their efforts to find survivors. They inspired him to perform his own rescue: to wrestle his imagination from the grip of comic-book heroes and imagine what a living, breathing hero might look like. That was when he traded the image of himself as Nite Owl III for the image of a New York firefighter.

But now his old dream of becoming a superhero had been miraculously rescued from the rubble of his fate. Which reminded him, he needed to think of a name when and if his superhero dream came true. Super-Vamp? Leaguer-Man? Creature of the Right?

As Long Island Sound slid into view, his name game was interrupted by Birnam placing a silver case on the seat beside him. “It holds a week's supply of Blood Lite,” Birnam explained. “And a cell phone. If you need anything, call me. I'll be there for you twenty-four/seven.”

Morning smiled at the thought of another name. Blood Lite-Year.

         

They took a town car into the city. It was dusk by the time they reached the West Village and arrived at the offices of Diamond Sky Public Relations. Because of the late hour, they had to ring the buzzer. The frosted glass door was opened by a short woman with freckly skin and a bonfire of red hair. She wore a stylish green pantsuit and appeared to be about forty. Ms. Penny Dredful, the owner of Diamond Sky PR, led them through the empty reception area and explained that her secretary had left for the day. She ushered them into her cluttered office. The walls were crowded with pictures of clients she'd represented over the years.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Ms. Dredful,” Birnam said, “on such short notice.”

“Please, call me Penny,” she corrected. “There's a reason I didn't call it Dredful Public Relations.”

Morning instantly liked her. Not only was she the kind of fast-talking New Yorker he'd missed in the last ten months, her outfit was the same color as the Green Lantern's.

Birnam gave her a friendly smile. “Why did you name it Diamond Sky?”

“‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a
diamond
in the sky,'” she recited. “I'm in the business of making people sparkle. So, which one of you is my diamond in the rough?”

Birnam gestured toward Morning. “Meet Morning McCobb.”

Morning watched her cheery mask for a twinge of disappointment. Nothing slipped through.

She eyed the gawky string bean of a teenager sitting on the other side of her desk. “Hello, Morning.”

“He's a vampire,” Birnam announced.

Without skipping a beat, she waved at the picture-covered walls. “I've handled everyone from a professional wrestler named Two-Headed Harry to an Elvis impersonator who claimed he was the real Elvis, back after thirty years of alien abduction.”

“That's why we picked you,” Birnam explained. “The more unusual the client, the more you rise to the occasion.”

She laughed. “A vampire joke.”

Birnam tossed her a quick smile. “Only if you believe vampires rise from the grave. You see, Morning has something Two-Headed Harry and alien-abduction Elvis don't. He's not an impersonator. He's the real thing.”

It was Penny's turn to flash a smile. “The customer is always right. But could I make a suggestion on the costume?”

“Actually, no,” Birnam said politely. “This is how he dresses.”

“Okay,” she conceded, “we'll do the slacker vampire thing.”

“We were thinking more on the lines of the
Leaguer
vampire thing.”

Penny's brow knitted. “Isn't he too old for Little League?”

Birnam opened the briefcase on his lap. “It's all right here, Penny.” He pulled out a glossy presentation folder and handed it across the desk. “Here's the playbook.”

Penny's cheeriness vanished as she lifted her hands away from the folder. “Whoa now, Mr. Birnam.
Here's
the ‘playbook.' I figure out how to put the diamond in the sky. I come up with the plan that sends this morning star blazing across the firmament of celebrity. It can be for fifteen minutes or fifteen years, that's all negotiable. But whenever Morning's last twinkle is swallowed by the Black Hole of Has-beenia, I'm still going to be here. I have a reputation to protect. And
no one
tells me how to do my job.”

Birnam gently placed the folder on Penny's desk and turned the open briefcase toward her.

Glimpsing the contents, her eyes widened. The neatly wrapped bundles in the briefcase were the same color as her pantsuit. “Like I said”—her smile returned—“the customer is always right.”

Birnam nodded happily. “I knew I picked the right woman for the job.”

“Shall we begin tomorrow morning?”

“Sounds good.” Birnam rose from his chair and extended his hand. “I know you and Morning will make a great team.”

Shaking hands, Penny glanced at Morning, still slumped in his chair. “Me and Morning? Won't you be here tomorrow?”

Birnam gave Morning a tight smile, like a parent leaving his firstborn at college. “No, he's all yours now.” He turned and walked out.

Penny scooted around the desk and followed him into the reception area. “Wait a minute, where is he staying?”

Birnam opened the glass door and turned back. “He may not look like it, but he can take care of himself. Before he became a vampire, he was an orphan in this city.”

“But—”

But Birnam was gone.

Penny hustled back into her office. Morning hadn't moved. “Do you have friends in the city?”

Morning spoke for the first time. “Not really.”

“Oh, c'mon. How can you not have friends?” She opened a safe behind her desk.

“Friends don't stick when you keep bouncing from trial family to trial family.”

She turned back and studied him. “You seem like a nice kid. Why didn't someone adopt you?”

“Before I was a vampire, I was really quiet. Too quiet.”

“And now you're what? A back-slapping party-animal vampire?”

“No, I'm just a little less quiet.”

“Good.” She shut the cash-filled briefcase, shoved it into the safe and spun the lock. “Then putting you up in a hotel won't be a problem.”

“A hotel?” he asked, faking an anxious expression. Morning actually liked the idea of staying in a hotel. Anything was better than the stuffy dorm room he'd been trapped in for almost a year. But persuading Penny to let him stay at her house was the first task Birnam had given him. The reason was simple. The sooner Penny got to know and trust him, the sooner he could CD in front of her and convince her she was dealing with the real thing, not some faux vampire.

Penny crossed her arms. “Yes, a hotel. Where else am I going to put you?”

“Your house.”

She looked aghast. “You can't stay with me!”

“Why not?”

“For one, you're a vampire.”

Morning grinned, exposing his perfectly straight, fangless teeth. “Do you really believe that?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why can't I stay with you?”

She waved her hands in exasperation. “Because I don't have sleepovers with my clients. Even when they punch my guilt buttons about being orphans.”

Sensing her weakening resolve, Morning dipped into the backstory Birnam had provided on Penny. “Mr. Birnam told me that when you were my age you believed in vampires. You even pretended to be one for a while. My people have always liked goths and vampire-wannabes. We call them ‘the faithful.'”

Her face tightened with suspicion. “How does Birnam know that?”

“When he hires a PR person, he does his homework. He said you have an extra bedroom.”

Her jaw dropped. “How does he know
that
?”

“Well, since he's a vampire too, he probably—”

“He's no vampire, he's a Peeping Tom!”

Morning gazed up at her. She was flushed with anger. Birnam had warned him about the various stages Lifers might go through before they accepted him for what he was. Angry denial was one of the first. Then he remembered Birnam's last words of advice. “The playbook is only a suggested path out of the
selva obscura
of secrecy. If a tree falls across your path, go around it.”

Morning stood up. “You know, it's only for a night.” He shouldered his backpack. “If the St. Giles Group Home is still open, they'll put me up. I think I still have a friend there.” He picked up the silver case of Blood Lite. “See you tomorrow.”

He crossed the reception area. Penny appeared at her office door, shaking her head with a scowl. “Okay, you win. But for one night only, then we find a hotel.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She stepped back into her office, then reemerged with her purse.

“Aren't you forgetting the playbook?” he asked.

She ducked back in and grabbed the folder.

As she locked the glass doors to the office, she chuckled to herself. “Now that I think of it, I did put up Two-Headed Harry one night. He left his fake head in my apartment and I had to FedEx it to him before his next bout.” She dropped the keys in her purse and lifted a cautioning finger. “Try not to leave your fangs, okay?”

“I don't have fangs.”

“Right.” She headed toward the elevator. “Tell that to my daughter.”

Morning tensed. “You have a daughter?”

She answered his startled expression with a smile. “Well, I'm glad there's something you and Mr. Birnam don't know.” Reaching the elevator, she punched the down button. “Don't worry, my daughter's bark is worse than her bite.”

As they rode the elevator, Morning was sure Birnam had known about Penny's daughter, but for some reason he hadn't mentioned it. Given all of Birnam's blather about bloodlust and ultimate tests, Morning had to believe the daughter was a tree Birnam was intentionally throwing across his path.