CHAPTER 4
The summit was scheduled to occur in two days. Reginald predicted a clusterfuck.
According to Maurice and Karl, there had always been human authorities who knew that vampires existed. It wasn’t a matter of cooperation so much as a matter of detente. The heads of the various Vampire Councils and the heads of their respective human regions kept in touch in the way that the United States and the Soviet Union had kept in touch at the height of the Cold War. They made a farce of diplomacy, but really all that mattered was that each considered the other to be a mortal threat. The vampires weren’t going to stop feeding on humans, and humans who knew what they were facing weren’t going to stop defending themselves and seeking out nests to exterminate. Both sides understood that skirmishes between their species were inevitable, so each made their peace with the existence of the other, accepted inevitable losses, and agreed that for the welfare of both sides, no official, large-scale action would be taken. As long as the Vampire Councils remained as hidden and low-key as possible, the human authorities wouldn’t send the Anti-Vampire Taskforce’s armies to dig them out while the sun was shining.
But over the past few months, the American Council’s collapse had threatened that balance.
According to Karl, who’d been putting out diplomatic fires and smoothing ruffled feathers while Maurice was running for his life, American authorities were irate at the widespread killings being perpetrated by rogue vampires. They were threatening action. They already had AVT vampire hunters trained and ready, and were just looking for an excuse to set them loose. And so for months, Karl and the other Council leaders had been attempting to pacify the humans, assuring them that they were on top of “the American problem” — all the while knowing that if they didn’t get on top of it, the AVT would soon engage worldwide. If that happened, vampires would find themselves facing a war on two fronts: from the angels on one side and from the humans on the other. And what made it worse was that it seemed impossible to serve both masters; the Ring of Fire suggested killing and turning, whereas peace with the humans forbade it. The balance was incredibly delicate.
“There was a time,” said Karl as he used the Council’s main computer to log in to the videoconferencing service, “when we didn’t have such a nice balance with the humans. We’ve only ‘agreed to disagree,’ say, over the past two hundred and fifty years. Before that, it was the time of villagers and pitchforks and torches. Have you ever been chased by villagers with pitchforks and torches, Maurice?”
“Our whole nest was harassed by a bona-fide old-world village back before I moved to Virginia,” said Maurice, nodding.
“Sometimes they chase me out of Burger King,” said Reginald.
“I took a pitchfork through the head once,” said Karl. “It was not pleasant. It was like he’d sharpened the points to be like daggers. A panicked and rather large woman swung a huge stone hammer and knocked me down, and her husband stood over me and drove the fork through my head — actually through my skull and brain — and into the ground. I guess he thought we were zombies. He couldn’t pull it out, so he left it and marched toward the ruins of an old estate we’d holed up in. I stayed where I was until he was gone because I didn’t want to take a chance that someone else might fork me or hit me again. I was young then, and not as strong. I was also not used to pain, and this pain was beyond the world. After he left, I freed myself and removed the thing. And when I made it back to the nest, they had burned it to cinders. Luckily it was evening. Villagers were idiots and always seemed to attack at night, so many of my fellows escaped. But five did not.”
Even though Karl was telling what sounded to Reginald like a tragic story, he put his hands on his hips and looked wistfully into the distance, as if reliving a fond memory of the good old days. Reginald found himself expecting Karl to say something about how times were simpler then, or perhaps talk about how much you could buy with a dime. Or whatever currency they’d been using at the time, he mentally amended.
“Anyway,” said Karl, “don’t expect much of the friendly chatter at the summit. They will be extremely angry and they will make threats. It helps to think of them as villagers with pitchforks and torches, because that is essentially what they are underneath. It is our job to convince them that this was all Barkley’s fault…”
“Which it wasn’t,” said Reginald.
“… and also that Timken represents a definite return to law and order.”
“Which we don’t know,” Reginald added.
“Right. And we must not mention the elections. It is too uncertain. We must convince them that there is stability now, rather than more change.”
“So we’re presenting Timken as the leader in America, no question.”
“Correct.”
“And you’re not worried that that gives him implied power.”
“I cannot worry about that.”
“And we’re not mentioning the Ring of Fire.”
“Correct,” said Karl, now positioning the webcam. “Letting the humans know that many vampires believe we have a mandate from above to kill humans lest we be exterminated would be a faux pas, shall we say.”
“We seem to be lying a lot in the spirit of cooperation,” said Reginald.
“Don’t feel guilty about it,” said Maurice, his young-looking eyes locking onto Reginald’s. “Rest assured, they will be lying to us.”
Karl made a few final adjustments to the webcam and checked the settings in the videoconferencing software. Then he clicked a few places on the screen and they entered the conference, now able to see themselves in a small window in the corner of the screen. Their other party wasn’t there yet. After a few moments, Reginald got tired of waiting and turned to Karl.
“Do you trust Timken?”
“He usually seems noble and he is very — how you say? — charismatic,” said Karl.
That wasn’t an answer. But before Reginald could repeat his question, a new, larger window appeared on the screen. The man in the window looked far less severe than he’d appeared during the coup. His blonde hair was combed neatly instead of mussed by a helmet and his narrow face, which had been serious and convicted, looked relaxed and handsome.
The man on the screen smiled. “Deacon Toussant!” he said, making a small bow toward Maurice. “It is nice to finally meet you. I am Nicholas Timken.”
“Hello,” said Maurice.
“And Karl, my old friend!”
“It is good to see you again, Nicholas,” said Karl.
“And you,” said Timken, leaning forward and looking directly into the camera rather than at the screen of his computer, “must be Reginald Baskin. It is a great pleasure to meet you.”
“ ‘Sup,” said Reginald.
“How are things abroad?” said Timken. “Will I see you at Oktoberfest, Karl?”
“Always a good time, Nicholas.”
“Well,” he said, “let’s talk. I imagine you are curious about what happened yesterday.”
“Slightly,” said Karl.
“I regret that I had to take matters into my own hands. I also regret the fatalities. That was not intended. My men were to engage only if absolutely necessary, but a few in the crowd unfortunately made it necessary.”
“I’m curious about the weapons they used,” said Karl. “What are they, Nicholas?”
“They have an official name, but I call them Boom Sticks. Do you know those things doctors sometimes use to give injections without using a needle? Where they basically spray whatever it is through the skin? These work the same basic way, except that they’re far, far more powerful.”
“Powerful enough to go through clothes. Through skin and bone.”
Timken tapped his chest and there was a metallic sound indicating that he wore something under his loose shirt. “Only reinforced armor will stop it.”
“Where did such weapons come from?” Karl asked.
“I had them developed. They’re state of the art.” He smiled with self-satisfaction.
Karl’s eyes narrowed. “They seem expensive. And lethal.”
“Desperate times and deep pockets,” said Timken, chuckling. “Besides, this is America, baby. Little old ladies carry grenades in their purses here.”
Karl’s lower jaw rocked below his upper jaw. His eyes were still serious, still penetrating the image on the screen.
“Look,” said Timken, taking a breath. “I’ll be straight with you. I started developing these right after the Ring of Fire. I thought there might be chaos. I wanted to be prepared. My company has provided me with a substantial amount of spendable funds, so I built a shelter and I purchased supplies. But swords and stakes and even wooden or silver bullets simply wouldn’t be effective enough if there were riots. I wanted to defend myself. I was scared, to tell you the truth. And so when Barkley started calling the shots and things slowly went to shit in the streets, I found myself with a lot of supplies and a bunch of like-minded survivalist friends, and I saw a mission that needed to be undertaken. And you, Deacon —” His eyes moved to Maurice’s side of the screen. “— were being persecuted and unable to command the armies we had, which shamefully abandoned their posts and went rogue. You couldn’t protect the Nation, and I could. I tried peaceful means first; I really did. Karl knows I did. But they wouldn’t listen, and things got worse and worse, and eventually it was down to a choice between overthrow and armageddon. So I got my friends together, and we took up weapons, and we did what was necessary.”
“You called yourself an army.”
Timken made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, you know how fighters are. They enjoy a label that gives them a sense of unity.”
Karl’s lower jaw continued to work. He chewed the inside of his cheek. Maurice and Reginald said nothing. They were there as observers, not truly participants. This was Karl’s dance.
“All right, Nicholas. So what is next?”
“Elections, like I promised. I seized power because it was in the wrong hands, not because I wanted it for myself. I am a steward of this government’s authority, nothing else.” He opened his hands to show that he was merely a servant, there to do his duty to his species and his country. “The machinery is already in place, but I will make it better, and I’ll open it to all the scrutiny it can take so that everyone can see that it’s fair. The vampires of this country will vote in a free, open election, via Fangbook. We will elect a leader. We will restore order — not in the old, Logan-type image, but in the image of the American government.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” said Reginald.
Reginald said it as a joke, but Timken gave him a look. “Hey, love it or leave it,” he said.
“And you will be a candidate?” said Karl.
“If the people want me. But so will you, Maurice, if you want to be. You are still the rightful authority, as far as I’m concerned.”
Reginald looked at Maurice. Even if he wanted to rule the Council again, there was absolutely no chance he could win a free election. Maurice was one of the most loathed vampires on the planet. His views on inclusion of “sub-standard” vampires like Reginald and his other conservative, borderline reactionary views set him well outside of the comfort zones of the young US vampire population.
“No thanks,” said Maurice.
“Then whoever,” said Timken. “The more, the merrier. Anyone who wants to be on the ballot may be on it, and we’ll let the people decide. We can guarantee a fair election. The Fangbook voting algorithm is unhackable — even by you, Mr. Baskin.” The you-sly-dog expression that Timken gave Reginald left no question; he knew that Reginald had hacked the “unhackable” master algorithm that used to dictate the movements of the Vampire Council, back before it had plunked itself down in the basement of the Asbury Club and decided to make itself comfortable.
Karl nodded.
“Can you attend the summit in Paris in two days’ time?” Karl asked.
“I can’t leave. You must understand that.”
“Of course,” said Karl, nodding. He didn’t want Timken to attend and knew he wouldn’t be able to, but diplomacy said that he had to make the gesture.
“I could maybe attend like this,” said Timken, pointing at his webcam. The gesture was boyish and playful.
“Perhaps it’s best if we vouch for you,” said Karl. “So that we can tell them our own version of events.”
Timken nodded, understanding the need for subterfuge. From what Karl had told them earlier, Timken wasn’t a diplomat, but he knew how the game was played — and when he should leave that game-playing to the people who knew how to play it best.
“I’m not exactly a summit kind of a guy anyway,” said Timken, smiling. His smile was as large and handsome as Walker’s, but not as insulting. It was welcoming and warm.
“Hmm,” said Karl.
“Oktoberfest is more my speed.”
Karl nodded.
“Eh, Karl?” said Timken. Big grin.
“Indeed.”
“But you’ll tell them that I’m here when the world needs me. That I’m keeping the Council warm for the next comer, and that in the meantime, our Nation will be ruled by order, not chaos.”
“I will,” said Karl. “Goodbye, Nicholas.” He gave a small nod.
“Cheers,” said Timken. Then he leaned forward and jabbed at something with his finger, and his window on the screen disappeared.
Karl exited the software, turned off the webcam, and stood. He stretched his back, putting a hand on his hips and arching his spine.
“He seems nice,” said Reginald.
“Hmm.”
“You don’t think so?” said Reginald.
“Karl doesn’t trust anyone,” said Maurice.
“Hmm,” said Karl.