Adam Rex - Fat Vampire - A Never Coming of Age Story

"There! now," said Cassiopeia. "All are here who will be here."

All? thought Doug. The third chair was still bare as a headstone. He could feel the others beside him glancing at it, too.

"I am, as ever, Cassiopeia Polidori. At my left is Alexander Borisov. The third place is set out of respect for Mr. David, who enjoys his solitude. Until recently, we three were the only so ennobled for a hundred miles."

"What about Asa?" asked the green-haired girl.

"Asa is not of our kind."

"What is he, then?"

"He is my butler. Now. A gathering of the ton such as this will by no means be commonplace. For reasons you may have already deduced, our breed tend not to mingle." Her nostrils flared slightly, and the point was made. "It is customary, however, for our kind to mentor those they grace — to guide, and to teach discretion. Discretion is paramount. You tell no one what you are. You speak to no one of our concerns."

First rule of bite club: you do not talk about bite club, thought Doug. Got it.

"But that is not enough. Even in your private affairs must you be utterly clandestine. An elder shows her protégé how this is done. That you have all come so hastily and stridently to my attention suggests that you have not had the benefit—"

The green-haired girl tensed, her whole pointed demeanor aimed squarely at the seated man. "Well, if Count Dickula ever called like he said he would— "

"I got very busy," Alexander protested in a thick stew of an accent. He pronounced every word like he was pushing it uphill. "Work has been a nightmare, I can’t tell you…I was going to call this week—"

"Whatever."

"But when I heard of this party—"

"What ever ."

A thick silence filled the room. The green-haired girl crossed her arms under her chest, which Doug appreciatively noted had a sort of push-up bra effect.

Cassiopeia sighed. "Perhaps we should try to conclude with the introductions. Short boy, tell them your name."

Doug’s face boiled, but he did as he was told. The other kids took their turns.

"Danny."

"Evan."

"Victor."

"Absinthe."

"Absinthe?" slurred Alexander. "At the rave you were called Beth."

"Oh, so you remember what to call me, just not how to call me—"

"I believe it has been made rather plain how our dear Absinthe became one of us," said Cassiopeia. "I am more interested in the provenance of our other guests."

Don’t call on me , thought Doug. Don’t call on me.

"Douglas. Is the kinsman who granted your immortality present here tonight?"

"Uh, no," Doug replied, and did some quick thinking. "No…not unless it was Absinthe, I guess."

"Oh, right," said Absinthe. "Sure. It was totally me. "

"Did she resemble Absinthe?" asked Cassiopeia with a note of surprise in her voice.

"It was dark," said Doug.

"Maybe his was the same one who got me," said Victor. "Doug and I talked about this already…we were both attacked in the Poconos."

"Attacked?" asked the signora. Her distaste for the word was palpable.

"Well, not ‘attacked,’ maybe. It was…it was fine."

Doug felt a surge of love and gratitude. He could have cried. He could have bumped Victor’s fist, or done one of those complicated handshakes everyone else seemed to know how to pull off but him.

Victor described his vampire then as "college aged" and "hot." Average height. Foreign. Hair that was either black or brown. Danny and Evan, in turn, described their vampires in much the same way. Danny ventured that her hair was really dark brown, not black, and Evan offered that she definitely had an accent but that it wasn’t the same as Signora Polidori’s.

"You cannot fathom my relief," she said. "Well," she added, sharing a meaningful look with Alexander, "it seems we have an enchanted stranger in our midst. Such intrigue."

"Such a delightful turn of events," muttered Alexander.

"Alas! our mysterious friend has been remiss," she continued. "Each of you should have your tutelage. I will take our Miss Absinthe under my wing; she may do well to have a fairer hand at the tiller than Mr. Borisov’s."

"I will take on Victor, then," said Alexander.

"And I will take Daniel, as well."

"Then I will take Evan."

There was a fat pause, during which Alexander cleaned his fingernails. Oh, give me a break, thought Doug.

"It occurs to me…" said Cassiopeia airily, "I hesitate only because it occurs to me that, absent though he is from our gathering, Mr. David should know the joys of mentorship as well."

"Oh yes?" said Alexander. "Oh. Yes. Yes, definitely."

"So we are agreed."

"Definitely agreed."

"Douglas"—Cassiopeia smiled sweetly—"you shall have the surpassing benefits of Stephin David’s many wise years. I will arrange it personally. It is, I daresay, a perfect match."

She rose to her feet.

"Now! who will have some supper?"

It was like eating somebody’s stamp collection, this supper. Everything was small and difficult to acquire and had a story behind it that was meant to be interesting, but wasn’t. Parakeet’s eggs and truffles, roe from an endangered salmon served in a ring of lightly battered kraken. Edible flowers. A supper planned by someone whose relationship with food had drifted over the years. Doug was relieved to see that he was not the only one picking at his plate.

The party broke up at a little after two in the morning. Asa saw all but Alexander to the front door — Doug hadn’t noticed if he’d stayed behind or simply left by another route to avoid Absinthe. They walked toward the front gate, the three Victor clones a little ahead, Doug lagging behind and trying to appear to be lost in thought, Absinthe a couple steps behind him.

"Hey," she said. "Douglas, right?"

"Yeah. Absinthe is a cool name."

"Why aren’t you up there with the rest of the big bats?"

Doug shrugged. The answer, in fact, was that back here he was maybe Victor’s friend. Back here he didn’t force Victor to choose whether to accept him in front of the others.

It was nice of her to pretend that there was nothing separating Doug from the other guys. Or it was a kind of nice, at any rate. One that allowed her to spotlight Doug’s standing in life, his outward flaws, meanwhile casting herself as the sort of guileless ingenue who believes it’s what’s inside that counts. Or maybe Doug was overthinking things, as usual. He told her he had a lot on his mind.

"I hear that. God, isn’t she rad? La Signora? I’m so stoked to see her again next week. Fuck Alex."

Doug didn’t know what to say to that. He tried to nod sagely.

"So…" Absinthe said, "have you…told anyone about becoming…ennobled? You can tell me if you have."

"I haven’t, though," said Doug. "I…almost let it slip to a friend, but I didn’t."

"Yeah. Yeah, I didn’t either. Signora sounded so serious about that. Like it might be dangerous for anyone you told."

The night was quiet, apart from the crunch of gravel beneath their shoes. Up ahead the other boys erupted into bawdy woofing. The phrase "killer rack" drifted backward on the breeze.

"Hey," Absinthe said suddenly, "if I fly home, would you get my clothes for me?"

"What?"

She answered by changing into a small green-and-brown bat, in a wink, and her clothes dropped to the ground beneath her. She flittered around Doug’s head until he bent down and retrieved her garments. He was inches away from what was technically a naked, beautiful girl but he couldn’t appreciate it. He folded her clothes neatly in his hands and the bat gave a lyrical chirrup and flew away.

When next Doug looked ahead he saw Victor, alone, by the gate.