Suck It Up and Die (26 page)

The bouncer turned to see the naked girl running away. He spun back in time to clothesline her “attacker.” Morning hit the ground like a flapjack; his head
cracked
on the stones. The bouncer reached down and grabbed
Morning by the front of his Epidex. “A vampire and a
pedophile
! You’ve crossed the line, punk!”

In the next instance, several things happened simultaneously. The naked “Zoë” shape-shifted into a falcon and flew away with the sweat-cam logo in its talons; the bouncer yanked Morning to his feet to the sound of ripping Epidex; Portia and Cody flew out the door. Seeing the bouncer holding the woozy Morning in his torn Epidex, Portia shouted, “What’s going on?”

“Did a guy run outta here”—Cody yelled at the bouncer while pointing to the hole in his sweatshirt—“with a Yankees logo?”

“It was DeThanatos,” Morning slurred.

The bouncer, staring at Morning, was fixed on his own question. “Aren’t you—” He flipped a Maglite from his pocket and beamed it on. The light zigzagged over Morning’s torso before finding his unfocused eyes. “Morning McCobb?”

Zoë exploded through the doorway like a jack-in-the-box with road rage. “I go to the bathroom! You guys ditch me! And my date tells me she has a fang ache! What the hell happened?”

Gaping at Zoë, the bouncer’s confusion mounted. “But you were just”—he whipped his Maglite beam to the end of the passageway—“there, naked.”

Zoë shot him a contemptuous look. “Have your fantasies, pervert! I’m outta here!” She spun on her boots and clacked down the passageway.

There was a flutter of wings and the bouncer suddenly looked like a magician who turns teenage boys into pigeons. The pigeon flew up, disappearing behind a roofline.

Portia and Cody ran after Zoë, leaving the stupefied bouncer mumbling, “I gotta get a day job.”

Perched high above him, Morning’s pigeon blinked down at the pile of clothing behind the buttress. His shadow-consciousness cooed,
I gotta get my clothes and cell phone
.

Cody caught up with Zoë first. He tried to explain, as best he could, given the momentary dropout from being thralled, what had happened in the Tasting Room after she had run to the restroom.

Portia trailed behind. Even though her mind swirled with questions like
What the hell was DeThanatos doing there? And why?
, they were blown away by more vexing mysteries.
When the flashlight beam darted across Morning’s bare skin and his ripped Epidex, was that a Band-Aid on his shoulder? And what was that on his chest? The hair equivalent of a stress pimple?
But there was no putting Morning in the hot seat until he’d CDed back to human form and collected his cell phone. At the moment, the only person she could interrogate was her best friend.

She caught up with Cody and Zoë and pried the truth out of her. The three invitations to the Tasting Room had come directly from DeThanatos, which meant the whole thing was a setup. As mad as Portia was at Zoë for leading
them into a trap, she kept her cool and fired questions. “Why would DeThanatos want footage of you in a blood tryst? Or any blood tryst? And why was your date with the Red Mohawk? Was she in on it too?”

When Cody began to speculate that DeThanatos might be planning to start a website of Leaguer-Lifer bloodlust porn, Portia cut him off and said she was going home. Before heading for the subway, she told Cody to get the still-distraught Zoë home and make sure she didn’t do something stupid like throw herself in the river because her vampire date had been a total blood-bust.

As soon as they were out of sight, Portia called Morning. She got his voice mail. She left a message for him to call her ASAP.

When she got home she tried his cell again: no answer. She began to worry.
Maybe he didn’t get back to his clothes. Maybe something happened to him
. She called St. Giles. Sister Flora told her that Morning had gotten home, said he didn’t want to be disturbed, and gone to his room.

Portia breathed a sigh of relief and tried his cell one more time. Still no answer. She wasn’t surprised. He had warned her and he was right; their shoot in the Tasting Room had been a disaster.

Later, as she lay in bed wondering if he would call, she was haunted by mental snapshots: the pimple on his forehead, the Band-Aid on his shoulder, and the hairs on his chest. She thought of them a hundred times before she finally fell asleep.

Portia was woken the next morning by her cell. She fumbled it off the bedside table and answered. “Morning, I was—”

“You can say ‘morning,’ ” the voice on the other end grumbled, “but there’s nothing good about it. It
sucks
.”

Even though Portia was still pissed at Zoë, she was glad to hear her voice; she had survived the night’s humiliation. “I know it sucks.”

“No, I mean,
really
sucks,” Zoë moaned. “Go turn on any news channel. It’s not good, and I’m really sorry.”

Before Portia could respond, the line went dead.

Downstairs, Portia was glad to find her mother had already gone to Diamond Sky. She flicked on the TV and surfed news channels until she saw a familiar scene: Red Mohawk moved in and buried her fangs in Goth Guy’s neck. He threw back his head with a gasping sigh, and a rivulet of blood ran down his neck as Red Mohawk took a sloppy gulp.

Portia winced as if she were the one being bitten. “Oh, boy.”

The television cut to Ally Alfamen at a news desk. On the other side of the desk was Becky-Dell Wallace. Ally didn’t have to prompt Becky-Dell. “There it is, my fellow Americans,” Becky-Dell intoned, “the Leaguers’ hidden agenda, as plain as the blood on that young man’s neck and as real as the place it occurred: a secret club called the Tasting Room, operating in the bowels of a building next to and owned by a nightclub called Goth ’Em. Needless to say, the BVA has locked the doors to the Tasting Room and Goth ’em and thrown away the keys. The participants caught in this monstrous act have been arrested for crimes against humanity.” She leaned closer to the camera. “And now, I call on my congressional colleagues to do their duty. To be in the House and Senate this evening, to vote down the Vampire Rights Act, and end the charade of vampires being anything but what they
have been, are now, and will always be: bloodsucking fiends!”

Ally finally got a word in, “Ah, Congresswoman, a couple of questions? What about the young girl at the beginning of the clip who was the intended victim but, for lack of a better term, chose to relieve herself of another fluid rather than the one we just witnessed?”

“Unfortunately,” Becky-Dell replied, “the young woman, while making bad choices, didn’t break any laws that now stand on the books. Because she is a minor, we can’t reveal her name, but believe me, her parents will be notified and I pray she will be properly punished.”

“Obviously,” Ally continued, “this is devastating footage to have acquired on the day of the VRA vote. Where and/or whom did you get it from?”

Becky-Dell raised an eyebrow. “The source of this footage could not have been more fitting.”

“Which was?”

“WikiLeaks.”

“Liar!” Portia shouted at the TV as Ally couldn’t hold back a guffaw.

“It’s not funny,” Becky-Dell scolded.

Ally dropped back to anchor mode. “I know, it’s tragic. Especially for the Leaguers who had hoped this day would bring them freedom and equality. So, did WikiLeaks shoot this footage?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

Portia held her breath, waiting for the ax to fall.

“I wish I could say,” Becky-Dell explained. “But again, we’re talking about minors who need to be punished by the proper authorities. Their parents.”

As relieved as Portia was, she yelled at the TV. “I’m not a minor. I’m eighteen! So is Cody!” She jumped to her feet with a revelation. “And you’re not saying who gave it to you ’cause it would reveal who you’re in bed with: DeThanatos!”

Running upstairs to get dressed, Portia called Cody. He didn’t answer; she left an urgent message for him to call her. Before she was dressed she got a text from him.

Then she tried Morning again. No answer.

When Portia hustled out of the town house, she ran smack into her mother. Penny was accompanied by Rachel, looking pale and uncharacteristically down for an Earth Angel.

“Going somewhere?” Penny asked sternly.

“Ah, y-yeah,” Portia stammered, “maybe.”

“How ’bout
not
maybe?” Penny steamed. “How ’bout never again, till I drop you at college? I got a call from Becky-Dell Wallace telling me that you and Cody shot the footage that’s all over the news.”

Portia cocked her head toward Rachel. “Does she have to be here for this?”

“You’ve mucked up her future worse than mine,” Penny snapped. “I’d say she deserves a piece of you.”

“Look, I know I screwed up,” Portia offered, “but that’s not the real news. Becky-Dell didn’t get the footage from WikiLeaks, she got it from DeThanatos. He stole it from us last night, and Morning tried to stop him.”

The two women stared, trying to connect the dots. “Morning was there?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah, he was worried about us, and he knew something was screwy.” Portia’s face contorted with frustration. “I don’t have time to explain, but I promise, I’ll never point a camera at a vampire again. I’ll change my senior project to the safest thing in the world.”

Penny’s eyebrow lifted. “And that would be?”

“I don’t know … knitting. I really gotta go.” Portia tried to sidestep around her mother.

Penny blocked her way. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Portia vaulted over the edge of the stoop. “I don’t care if this is the last thing I do.”

Penny started to shout, but Rachel touched her arm. “Let her go.”

“Why?”

“She just gave up her passion: making movies. Let her try to reclaim what’s left.”

Penny scowled. “You mean Morning?”

“Yeah, love.” Rachel offered a hopeful smile. “I hear it makes the world go round.”

Penny harrumphed and pushed the door open. “That’s probably what they told Romeo and Juliet. How’d that work out for ’em?”

Once inside, Penny put a kettle on the stove to make a cup of tea. “We’ve brainstormed our way out of a lot of fixes. Got any ideas on this one?”

“Yeah.” Rachel pulled her phone from her bag. “Get another brain.” She dialed a number. Birnam answered, sounding clearer and more energized than the last time they had talked to him on Skype. “Gee, Mr. Birnam, for someone who’s about to see the VRA go down like
a cloud with a lead lining, you sound perky. Seen the news?”

“All the juicy details,” Birnam answered.

“Well, you called it,” Rachel said. “The poo hit the fan. I don’t know where you are, but you gotta come to New York and step up to the plate, the saucer, the cup, the works. Mr. B, we need you at the table before Becky-Dell runs us completely off it.”

Birnam grunted. “Last time we talked, I was from the BC generation.”

“You are, but it’s not what you think,” Rachel said, tap-dancing away. “When I said ‘BC,’ I meant brilliant Centurion. Which is what we need right now.”

“Perhaps, but this brilliant Centurion’s centuries have caught up with him.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, perplexed.

“I’ll let Morning explain. Right now, as president of the IVL, I only have one official act left in me.”

“Right,” Rachel jumped in, “to come and tell everyone that one fallen angel, the devil, didn’t spoil the barrel of heavenly angels, and one naughty Leaguer falling for a neck peck doesn’t capsize the Earth Angel applecart.”

Birnam chuckled. “That’s what I’ve always loved about you, Rachel—you’re a fruit cocktail of metaphors. And it’s exactly your kind of daffy optimism that’s going to one day—maybe not today, but someday—convince Lifers that we deserve equal rights. That’s why I’m making you the acting president of the IVL, effective immediately.”