Maggie Shayne - Twilight Fulfilled

Finally something that made sense to him.

He watched for a while before going to the door through which others came and went. As he started to push the door open, a man appeared and stood blocking it. Skinny, but tall enough, and smiling even though his eyes showed fear.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re full tonight. Do you have a reservation?”

Utana looked from the man’s head to his shoes, and up again. “I know not … reservation,” he said. “I wish food.”

“Well, um, right. But as I said, we’re full tonight.” He lifted a hand, a helpless gesture. “No room.”

“Bring food here, then. I wait.” Utana crossed his arms over his chest.

“Um, right. From out of town, are you?”

Utana only grunted at the man, no longer interested in conversing with him. Silence would best convey that the discussion was over.

“Yes, I see. Well, the thing is, it doesn’t quite work that way here. I do have a suggestion for you, however.”

“I know not suggestion. Bring food. I wait.”

“Why don’t you try the soup kitchen? Methodist church at the end of the road. See? You can see the steeple from here.”

He was pointing while he babbled, and Utana only managed to understand a word here and there. He was learning the language rapidly, but interpreting the words spoken in the rapid-fire way of the people here was still difficult. He followed the man’s pointed finger and saw the spire stabbing upward into the sky. “Ah, yes, church. I know church. House of your lonely god.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s it. Go to the church. They’ll have food for you there, and a place to sleep, as well, if you need one.”

Utana nodded, but he was more enticed by the smells coming from within, and impatient with the man, who was clearly trying to send him away without a meal. It was all very good to know there would be a bed for him at the house of the mortal’s singular god. But there was food here now, and he wasn’t leaving without partaking of some of it.

So he simply pushed the skinny man aside and continued opening the door. As he was about to enter, another man ran up and pushed against the door from within. But Utana pushed harder and shoved the man back hard, sending him flying into the wall, where he caught himself with one hand, rubbing the back of his head with the other.

Utana walked into the food place.

There was noise at first, people talking, and the clinking, chinking sounds of their ridiculous eating utensils and dishes. But as their eyes fell upon him, the eating and conversation ceased, and dead silence ensued.

Utana eyed the tables, the food, the stares of the stunned diners, no doubt surprised by the appearance of a large, dripping wet man, dressed in what James of the Vahmpeers had told him was meant to be used as bedding, but he cared not. He was focused only on food, on sustenance. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of beef, and his gaze shot to its source.

A man in an odd white hat came through a swinging door in the back of the room, bearing in his arms a tray laden with so much bounty he could barely carry it. Each dish was covered by a lid of shining silver, and yet the aromas escaped, and Utana’s stomach churned in its need.

He did not hesitate. He strode toward the small, food-bearing man, who froze at the sight of him. His frightened eyes darted left and right as he debated whether to stay where he was or to retreat. In three strides, Utana was there, taking the tray. Then he turned and walked back through the room. People rose from their tables, backing away from the path he cut. Two people stepped forward instead, and tried to block his way, but he moved them aside with a simple sweep of his powerful arm, sending them tumbling into a nearby table. The table broke, its contents toppling into the laps of the diners who sat there, even as they scrambled to escape. A woman screamed.

Utana moved past the ruckus to the door. Servants shouted after him, asking what he thought he was doing. But he ignored them all, carrying his bounty into the street and through the pouring rain, in search of a sheltered spot in which to eat.

In a moment he spotted one of the humans’ wheeled machines, a large one, with a back like a gigantic box and a pair of doors at the rear that stood wide open. Utana marched straight to it and easily stepped up into the box. He set his bounty on its floor and pulled the doors closed behind him. Making himself comfortable, or as comfortable as he could be while still wet and freezing cold, he lifted the shining lids one by one, bending closer to smell. He had no idea what most of the dishes contained, except for the one that hid the large joint of beef he’d been smelling. It was still warm, brown on the outside and oozing with juices. He picked it up and bit in, and the flavor exploded in his mouth. Tender and luscious, pink in the middle, the meat was the finest meal he’d had since reawakening to life. He leaned back against the metal wall of the box, chewed and swallowed, and sighed in relief.

One need, at least, had been met this day.

“Congratulations, Senator MacBride,” the Senate Majority Leader said.

He’d just sailed into the room where she’d been waiting for over an hour, hand extended as he crossed toward her.

Rising, she accepted the handshake. He wore a huge smile—one of those toothy crocodile smiles she’d learned how to identify her first week in office. So she prepared herself for the storm of bullshit that was sure to follow.

“Thank you, Senator Polenski. And might I ask what is it I’m being congratulated for?”

The veteran senator just waved a hand in the air. “Your new appointment. But please, sit down. Relax. I’ll ring us up some refreshments and tell you all about it.” Walking to his desk, he reached for the phone. “What would you like? Coffee? Perhaps something a bit stronger, to celebrate?”

“I’d really prefer to know what I’m celebrating first, Senator.”

He set the phone back down and perched on the edge of his desk. She was still standing right between the two cushy chairs in front of the desk, on a carpet that was so deep, her sensible two-inch pumps nearly became flats.

He met her eyes. “You’ve been named head of the Committee on U.S.-Vampire Relations.”

She lowered her head, laughing softly. “Fine. Fine, I’ll have coffee. You can tell me all about it as we sip.”

He was stone silent until she had stopped laughing. She weighed the tension in the room and realized that he hadn’t been making a joke. Lifting her head slowly, she met his eyes, tiny blue marbles beneath a head of thick white hair that always looked windblown. “Come on, Senator Polenski, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious. Word is out that they exist, thanks to that idiot former CIA operative and his tell-all book. Most of them—and a good number of ordinary human beings, as well—have been wiped out by vigilante groups at this point, but our intelligence agencies believe there are a handful remaining. Surely you’ve been following all of this in the news.”

“I … I didn’t think it was … real.” She sank into one of the chairs, the wind knocked out of her. “I thought the official stance on the late Lester Folsom was that he was demented and suffering from delusions.”

“It was. Unfortunately, no one bought it. So now we need to own up. They exist. It’s real. John Q. Public is terrified, and scared citizens are dangerous citizens, MacBride. We need someone to get a handle on this. To calm the public. To see to it that these … creatures are contained, monitored and dealt with.”

She must have given away her gut-level reaction to his words, because he averted his eyes, and added, “As fairly and humanely as is practical, of course.”