Fat Vampire Value Meal (Books 1-4 in the series) (23 page)

Reginald communicated Maurice’s order to a member of the Guard, who ran off.
 

Moments later, a door slid open at the far end of the arena and Reginald felt his skin crawl. It was where he himself had been brought in five months earlier.
 

The crowd gasped.

The man who came through the door — with a burly member of the Council Guard on either side — had the face of a hawk. There was no other way to say it. He was at least seventy or eighty human years old with stark white hair and piercing eyes that Reginald could feel on him even from a distance. His eyebrows were pointed down his beaklike nose. Every vampire had a strength, and everything in the man’s hawklike appearance said that his would be sight. He’d be able to spot a buttonhole from high orbit.
 

The prisoner flicked his head around the gathering like a bird. The spectators he looked at shrank back into their seats. It was a strange thing to see vampires do. Or rather, it wasn’t strange at all. It was what legend said happened when vampires looked on crosses — a myth Reginald still hadn’t tested.
 

“This man is a vampire?” said Maurice.

“Yes,” said Reginald. Ever since Nikki had infiltrated the Council as a human, the Guard had begun testing every prisoner to make sure.

“He must be seventy.”
 

“According to the file, he’s ninety-three,” said Reginald.
 

“He wouldn’t have had a chance if I weren’t here,” said Maurice. Then he exhaled and shook his head. “I wish they’d brought someone in who wasn’t quite so… unusual.”
 

“No kidding.”
 

“When I pardon a man this old…”
 

“They hate you already, Maurice,” said Reginald. “And remember, you wanted to prove a point anyway.”

“What’s his name?”
 

“Thomas Balestro.”

Maurice walked to the front of the box to address the old man just as Logan had during Reginald’s trial, but the Guard hadn’t yet released him. By this point in Reginald’s trial, he’d already been tossed into the center of the arena and the Guard had walked out. Reginald also hadn’t been bound in silver, and this man was heavily bound — far more than seemed necessary.

“Thomas Balestro,” said Maurice. “I am Maurice, Deacon of this Council, and it is my duty today to assess you. You have waived your right to a physical trial. You won’t be tried. You are pardoned. Go in peace.”
 

But the Guards on either side of the man didn’t move, didn’t release his arms. Finally, the one to Balestro’s right said, “Uh… Deacon? You may want to try this one.”

“He’s waived his trial. And he’s pardoned,” repeated Maurice. “You can all deal with an old vampire. Old, fat… we take all comers these days.”
 

There was a grumble that ran through the stands at Maurice’s pronouncement.
 

“Deacon?”
 

The same Guard. Maurice raised an eyebrow.
 

“That’s not what I meant. I meant, he’s unusual.”
 

“He’s old.”
 

“He’s
unusual
.”
 

Maurice shook his head.
 

“He knew our names. He knew our family’s names.”
 

That wasn’t anything special. Reginald knew the men’s names and the names of their families, too. He also knew where they lived, what they’d been like as humans, how they’d been turned, which schools they’d gone to, what their parents occupations had been, and where they went on vacation. Before his trial, he’d read everything available on the Council and the Guard, then had scoured records and encrypted databases to find out all he could about everyone he could. You never knew when information might come in handy.

“Fine,” said Maurice. “Unchain him and leave him.”
 

The Guards remained where they were. This time, the other spoke.
 

“Um… Deacon? New procedure is to keep prisoners bound with silver, except during their actual testing, until their final release from the final set of escorts,” said the Guard.
 

There had to be thirty pounds of silver chain on the man. It was absurd.
 

“Fine. You can go.”
 

“And new procedure is for Guard to stay by prisoners until the trial commences.”
 

“He’s waived his right to trial.”
 

“If you want to ask him questions, that counts as trial.”

“Fine. Trial is commenced. Whatever gets you to leave.”
 
Then, to the prisoner: “This is just a formality. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that this is how you’re being welcomed into our society.”

“I don’t mind, Deacon,” said the prisoner. “You may try me.” He spoke with an accent that Reginald couldn’t place. It was so subtle. English? Italian? French?
 

“Go,” Maurice said to the Guards.

“Will there be a physical trial, Deacon?”
 

“Jesus.”
 

“If there’s no physical trial, we have to leave him bound,” said one of the Guards, gesturing at the chains.
 

“I don’t mind remaining bound,” said Balestro.

“Whatever. Just leave.” Reginald saw Maurice’s arm flinch and realized that he’d just barely restrained himself from throwing the rock on the arm of the throne at the Guards out of sheer exasperation.

The two Guards nodded and backed away, keeping an eye on the prisoner as if they expected him to explode.
 

Thomas Balestro stood alone in the center of the packed-clay floor of the Council arena, silver chains binding his wrists and ankles, draped around his waist and over his shoulders. He didn’t look very old to Reginald. He was supposedly ninety-three, but he wasn’t stooped and there was nothing humbled in his eyes or his expression. He’d looked seventy when the Guard had brought him in, but now Reginald decided he’d place his age closer to sixty. His eyes bore the stare of an ambitious, aggressive man in his twenties. Reginald had seen the same stare from almost every twenty-something-seeming member of the audience and Council since they’d arrived.
 

Maurice turned to Reginald and whispered, “He’s supposed to test while he’s wearing all that silver? I couldn’t climb a staircase with that much on me.”

“They said it comes off for a physical trial. I’m guessing human Sub-Guards would come in and remove it. It’s too much for the vampire Guards to handle.”

“This is because of you?”
 

“Looks that way,” said Reginald, who couldn’t help but be flattered that he’d made the Council this paranoid.
 

And yet, the way the roof had come off two weeks earlier didn’t seem to bother them at all.
 

Hard to protect against something you can’t see — or something you don’t believe in,
he thought.
 

Maurice was ranting. “It’s idiotic. If someone is a big enough threat to require that much silver, the threat will just be a threat again as soon as it’s all removed.”
 

“No,” said Reginald. “Look.”
 

Reginald pointed to a ring of windows above the stands that hadn’t been there during his own trial. One advantage of a meeting place that was disassembled and reassembled every 8-10 days was that it was simple to make changes to the structure — such as adding a ring of sniper windows.
 

Reginald and Maurice looked around the edge of the arena, taking in the small windows. Each appeared to be made of thick, unbreakable Lexan. There was a tiny hole in each window, and the muzzle of a rifle protruded through each hole. Reginald had read about the security upgrade a few months ago. The rifles fired wooden bullets. Originally, the Council had considered placing archers at the windows, but missed arrows could be used as weapons. Bullets, on the other hand, were useless without the rifles that fired them.
 

“Again,” Maurice said to Balestro, “I apologize for the chains.”

“I understand completely.
I’d
keep me in chains if I were you,” Balestro said mildly.
 

Maurice’s face registered a puzzled expression.
 

“I’m a
baaaaad
man,” said Balestro. “For instance, I’m about to kill a whole bunch of you.”
 

Maurice turned to Reginald. “What else do you know about this man?”
 

“Nothing.” Reginald’s entire dossier on Thomas Balestro began and ended at the one-page affidavit he’d found on the shelf at the back of the Deacon box.
 

“Murder among vampires is serious business, Mr. Balestro,” said Reginald. “I’d advise you not to joke about it. If I weren’t here today, you’d probably already have been executed. Just so you understand the mood of this audience.”
 

“Just making conversation,” said Balestro. “Conversation such as the fact that this incestuous little community of yours has proven that absolute power does indeed corrupt absolutely, meaning that your deaths mean very, very little. Well,
imagined
‘absolute’ power, anyway. But yes, let’s talk. What should we talk about? How about your wife, Deacon? Celeste. Yes. Lovely woman. Did you know that she had an affair a few years ago? Naughty naughty.”
 

Balestro smiled a grin that was all teeth. Beside him, Reginald could see something change in Maurice’s expression.
 

“But
you
, Mr. Baskin,” he said, looking at Reginald, “you’re who interests me most of all. The man who proved to the mighty Vampire Nation that brains mattered as much as brawn. And then you took your place beside the Deacon, fat and unfit to exist in the eyes of most. Tell me, how does it feel to have proven yourself as superior and more evolved… yet still be considered unworthy to live?”
 

For the first time in months, Reginald found himself outmatched. He had nothing to use against the man, and he couldn’t read him at all. What did he want?
 

“I
want
to know what you think, Reginald,” he said, as if he’d read Reginald’s mind. “May I call you Reginald? I’d be honored if I could. Meeting you, after all, is one of the reasons I came here. Well, that and to kill a lot of vampires and to… well, the rest is a secret.” He pressed his lips together theatrically.

Maurice, finding his voice, said, “Who are you?”
 

“I’m a poor old man who was turned into a vampire illegally, but fortunately, I’m about to be pardoned by the Deacon. Lucky me.”
 

Reginald was running through scenarios in his head. Just because the man was cruel, angry, and had a lot of information didn’t mean that he was a threat. But there was more to it. Reginald didn’t like the way Balestro didn’t seem to be humbled by the silver chains binding him. He was standing tall, as if the chains were simply a part of his clothing. And there was still the matter of the last session’s odd happenings to consider.
 

“I’m a friend to you, Reginald,” said Balestro. “Or at least, I could be, for the time that all of you have left. I want to know what it’s like to be so universally rejected, despite your clear superiority. I want to know how you feel about being scorned simply because you’ve had the audacity to join a club that you’re not good enough for.”

The room had stopped talking.
 

“You don’t want to tell me? Perhaps your human friends Nikki and Claire would have thoughts on the matter. It’s 1:04pm. Claire just finished lunch and is drawing in class while she should be paying attention. Nikki is bored, sitting in an airport in New York, waiting for her connecting flight back to Columbus. I’m sure either would be happy for the diversion I’d offer. Does it strike you as odd that out of your three true friends, two are human? But of course…”
 

“You should execute him,” Reginald said to Maurice.
 

Balestro made a hurt face. “Well, look at that. Now you’re the one condemning people for being who they are. Should I die because I’m different?”
 

“Yes,” said Reginald.

Maurice, accustomed to trusting Reginald’s judgment, made a Roman emperor’s “thumbs-down” gesture. It wasn’t in the Council script, but it felt right. The crowd made pleased noises. Reginald felt conflicted. Balestro had to go, but Reginald didn’t like that he’d done something that pleased the crowd.
 

Below them, on the floor of the arena, Balestro was pulling the silver chains away with a mildly bothered air as if he’d just realized he was covered with spider webs. The links broke with popping sounds like small-caliber rifle fire. He snaked a finger under each of the thick wrist manacles and pulled. They snapped as if made of kindling. When he was done, with the silver chains in a pile at his feet, he ran his hands over his clothes as if to smooth out wrinkles.
 

There was a sharp sound from above, and the fabric of Balestro’s jumpsuit popped over his chest, leaving a small spatter of blood above his heart. The sequence repeated twice more. Reginald looked to where the sound had come from and saw one of the snipers reloading his rifle. The others were alternately looking at Balestro and then Maurice, whose presence in Council suddenly seemed to matter after all.

Balestro brushed fussily at the holes in his jumpsuit, then looked up at Maurice and Reginald as if to say,
Can you believe how rude that was?

Maurice looked up at the snipers, ready with their wooden bullets.
 

“Again,” he said.
 

This time, all of the snipers fired. Balestro’s chest erupted into dozens of tiny geysers of blood as dozens of wooden bullets entered his heart. The impacts made his shoulders jump, but he remained otherwise impassive, waiting for the assault to end. When it finally did end, Balestro spread his hands at Maurice:
Are you finished?

Maurice vanished from the Deacon’s box fast enough that Reginald couldn’t see where he’d gone. Suddenly, he was down on the clay floor — literally
on the floor,
lying on his back about twenty feet from Balestro.