Seven Minutes to Midnight

9

Veronica picked me up in her car. I was wearing my favorite plaid corset top and black skirt underneath a long black fur coat I'd found at the thrift store. In honor of our new guest I had pinned a fake rose on one side of my hair.

Veronica had also dressed for the occasion, wearing a formal black satin ball gown that revealed generous amounts of cleavage. She wore an ornate black cross the size of a playing card on a velvet ribbon resting against her bosom. She had chosen a tiny black hat with a veil to wear on her head, and long black knitted arm warmers that laced up with red ribbon.

"I see you're dressed to impress," I said.

"You never know," she said. "He might not be gay. I figured this—" here she indicated her bosoms—"would be the fastest way to smoke him out."

We arrived first, and lit our black candles (I had a little old-fashioned candle holder, while Veronica just cursed each time the hot wax dripped on her hands) for a solemn walk out to our usual meeting spot, a section of half-buried old tombstones tucked away behind the Wormwood mausoleum. Here the gravestones were so old they depicted skulls with wings instead of angels. There was also an awe-inspiring statue of a praying angel nearby. At one of our past gatherings we had hung black rosary beads from her poised hands.

"I hope he doesn't look like Frank's other friends," Veronica said. She pulled a blanket from somewhere among her skirts and spread it out before sprawling on the ground, poised like Cleopatra. "If I went to all this effort for one of those Trekkies, I'm gonna be so pissed."

I hopped up onto a sturdy modern tombstone and crossed my ankles, holding my candle on my lap. "From what I saw, he looks nothing like Frank's other friends." I kept remembering his graceful movement, the way his hip cocked as he stood framed in the window. The knowing green glow of his eyes.

Veronica snorted. "Please. You saw him through a crappy video camera, in the dark." She looked around. "Did you hear something?"

"Yes. I believe that's Frank lumbering through the brush."

"Hey," Frank said, coming into the light. "Is Lane here yet?"

"Hello to you, too. No, Lane is not here yet. He knows where we're meeting?" Veronica arched one over-plucked eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"Where's your candle?"

"Oh. I forgot it."

"Great. How will we do the initiation ceremony without three candles?" Veronica complained.

"Initiation ceremony?"

This was not Frank's voice. Veronica and I both looked up in confusion. Frank turned around with a smile on his face.

A boy emerged from the darkness into our circle of light. His hair was black, his eyes blue, and his skin pale, and wore a black coat with the collar turned up against the chill in the air. He moved without a sound. The smoothness of his skin, the unblemished quality of it, made me think he could be as young as fourteen. But there was something else about his appearance, a cold hardness to his features, a knowing look in his eyes, indicating that he was older. Much older.

I watched the candlelight flicker across his skin and realized he was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen.

A bemused smile graced his mouth. "There is an initiation ceremony?"

I couldn't say anything.

"They're just kidding," Frank said. "I think. You're kidding, right, Veronica?"

Veronica was clearly as enamored as I was. "Yeah. Kidding."

Lane walked, or glided, to the blanket where Veronica lay, and crouched down on one knee. "So you are Veronica... Frank told me about you."

"Did he?" she purred.

Then he reached out and drew his finger along her jaw line. Her head swiveled to face him as though she was entranced. I could practically feel his finger on my own cheek. I may have even half closed my eyes in pleasure.

"Lovely... so lovely," he murmured in that voice like velvet.

Frank cleared his throat, and the spell was broken.

Lane stood, unperturbed by Frank's interruption, and asked, "When does the game begin?"

"Oh," Frank said. His eyes glanced around desperately for help. It was awkward, trying to describe our private games. Frank and Veronica and I were of such like minds that we'd never had a specific routine to our games. "Well, I guess we usually start by picking characters."

"Characters?" Lane chuckled. "Are these characters of your own creation, or perhaps characters from literary or cinematic works?"

"Sometimes we make them up," Veronica said. "Amy comes up with some really great gothic names."

"Amy..."

My name coming from his mouth nearly put me in a trance again. The smile in my direction didn't hurt, either.

"What are some names you've created?"

"I—Ah, hmm..." I'd never felt more inarticulate than I did at that moment. Those blue eyes on me, I felt them deep in my soul. I couldn't think of a single character name I'd ever created. I couldn't even think of my own name, and he'd just said it.

"Sometimes we use characters from books, like the Vampire Chronicles?" Veronica said.

Once Lane had turned his face away, I felt less in thrall.

"Ah... Anne Rice." The way he said it made it sound like he knew her personally.

"Usually I like to be Akasha, or sometimes Gabrielle, or Pandora. Amy usually plays Claudia, because of her blonde hair. There aren't many girl characters, and lots of male characters." Veronica put on a pouty face. "We need more males in our games."

Another smile passed along Lane's face like a ghost. "Do you ever... in your games... drink blood?"

We all looked at each other with slight panic in our expressions. I could tell that Frank and Veronica struggled not to appear appalled by his suggestion. We were pretending to be vampires, and the most important part about being a vampire was drinking blood.

"We sometimes have red wine," I tell him.

Lane considered us all with his icy-eyed gaze. "Well, well, well. We shall have to correct that, won't we?"

"Have you ever drunk blood?" Veronica demanded, not to be outdone.

"Of course. I am a vampire."

Veronica's laugh sounded like a crow squawking. "Oh yeah? Which one?"

"Veronica—" Frank warned.

Lane held up a hand to Frank. "No, no. I shall have to convince her, as I did you." Frank's face closed off.

One of Lane's arms snaked around Veronica's shoulders to pull her into a seated position. "I do not choose which vampire I would like to be. I am myself a vampire. I am Lanius Delora, and I am over six hundred years old."

Her laugh this time had the stutter of a chattering squirrel. "Come on. You're just screwing with me, right?"

His grin widened. "Would you like me to drink your blood to prove it?"

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Author's Note:  Finally we meet Lanius Delora!  Do you think he's a real vampire or just really good at pretending?