did it. Pengle, the one-handed vampire, lunged at her in the inky darkness. Only creatures of the night could have detected the movement. Sainvire intercepted Pengle, taking hold of his sparse hair and coat. Without much effort, the master vampire tossed the angry Pengle five yards away. Poe laughed at hearing the splash.
“Poe, you better keep your mouth shut,” Sainvire ordered. “We don’t need you to antagonize any more vampires into ripping your throat tonight.”
“But I didn’t start–”
“Enough. Be alert instead of contentious.”
His rebuke stung. The master vampire owed her no allegiance. He could just hand her over to the waiting arms of Pengle. Or worse, the Council. It was best to do as he asked, but if he ever told her to shut up again, Poe vowed to stab his eye with more than just a pencil.
Maple gave her shoulder a squeeze for courage, and the three walked the gauntlet to the headquarters of the Vampire Council. Taunts and jibes accompanied them.
It seemed an eternity before they reached the old Herald Examiner Building, a Mission Revival 164
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monument to a dead media empire. All three were drenched, but only Poe’s teeth chattered from the cold, or perhaps, fear.
Two imposing sentries awaited them by the immense double doors, their yellowish fangs hanging half an inch past their lower lips. Everything in their pores screamed “old.” Poe inhaled a deep calming breath before entering. The whole thing wasn’t quite as grounding as she had wanted, for an honest to goodness Igor appeared out of nowhere with an elaborate bow. This bent creature had one giant eye and a tiny closed one, a flat but crooked nose, and thin lips hiding two rotten front teeth. And if that wasn’t quite enough, his back was hunched. His name, as he introduced himself, went with the rest of him.
“Good evening, Mr. Sainvire. Ms. Brockhurst.
Pleasure to see you both again,” he lisped with a watered-down British accent. The one eye turned to Poe. “Milfred is my name, Ms. Julia.” The butler’s giant eye looked as though it winked whenever he blinked.
“If you would all please follow me to the Council’s chambers, it would be duly appreciated.”
They followed the man’s halting walk to the judgment room as Poe had labeled it in her mind.
Finally able to see the expression on her companions’ faces, Poe asked, “What the fuck?” with her eyes. She received a tight smile from each vampire followed by a hell-if-I know shrug. If these old-fashioned Ancients still preferred to hire the Bram Stoker kind of lispers, then she was going to be worse than stew.
Unoiled hinges slowly creaked open as Milfred waved them inside the metal-studded doors leading into the circular chamber meant to instill old-fashioned macabre. It worked, grating on tightly strung nerves.
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Even Sainvire’s stoic composure slipped at the B-movie moment.
Oddly, Maple smiled and took something out of her pocket. “Figured you might need this, Milfred, since the hinges of this place seem to act up whenever visitors are around,” she said, handing a blue canister to the butler.
“Much thanks, Miss Brockhurst.” The butler inclined his head. “It was kind of you to bring an, er, WD-40 with you. The Council will be right along shortly.”
The building was entirely illuminated by silver candelabras bearing dripping candles and crystal chandeliers heavy with wax and cobwebs.
“They have something against electricity?” Poe asked in a whisper for which she heard no answer.
“Burning candles contributes to global warming. At least that’s what my mom said.”
These Council cronies knew how to feed off the fear invoked by old black and white Peter Lorre horror flicks. The candles created ghastly shadows, especially on the polished marble floors that intoned frightful clank-clank sounds when heels made contact. A grotesque painting by Titian covering almost an entire wall depicted a fallen angel under attack from a band of demons, the angel’s pain-filled, bleeding eyes staring up to heaven for intervention.
“That’ll be me,” Poe muttered. “My prayers will be unanswered, too.”
Underneath the painting stood a half-moon, elevated bench long enough to seat five councilmembers comfortably without elbowing one another. On either side of the bench stood two sentinels similar to the creatures that guarded the building entrance. These two looked fiercer, without a drop of pity like prehistoric things that didn’t give two shits 166
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anymore. Shadows hallowed their eyes and made their unnaturally lengthy yellow teeth glisten.
“These walruses need to floss,” Poe said too loudly.
“Shh!” Maple admonished.
Milfred led the three companions to the center floor that