“The Prince of Darkness is said to prefer Royalty.”
“Ew.” Why was I not surprised?
Royalty was a very, very rare bottled blood. I’d thought the brand was only a rumor until now. Royalty consisted of part synthetic blood and part real blood-the blood of, you guessed it, people of title. Before you go thinking of enterprising vamps ambushing that cute Prince William, let me reassure you. There were plenty of minor royals in Europe who were glad to give blood for an astronomical sum.
“After a month’s worth of phone calls, we managed to get two bottles.” Pam was looking quite grim. “They cost more than we could afford. I’ve never known my maker to be other than business-wise, but this year Eric seems to be going overboard. Royalty doesn’t keep forever, you know, with the real blood in it… and now he’s worried that two bottles might not be enough. There is so much legend attached to Dracula, who can say what is true? He has heard that Dracula will only drink Royalty or… the real thing.”
“Real blood? But that’s illegal, unless you’ve got a willing donor.”
Any vampire who took a human’s blood-against the human’s will-was liable to execution by stake or sunlight, according to the vamp’s choice. The execution was usually carried out by another vamp, kept on retainer by the state. I personally thought any vampire who took an unwilling person’s blood deserved the execution, because there were enough fangbangers around who were more than willing to donate.
“And no vampire is allowed to kill Dracula, or even strike him,” Pam said, chiming right in on my thoughts. “Not that we’d want to strike our prince, of course,” she added hastily.
Right, I thought.
“He is held in such reverence that any vampire who assaults him must meet the sun. And we’re also expected to offer our prince financial assistance.”
I wondered if the other vampires were supposed to floss his fangs for him, too.
The door to Eric’s office flew open with such vehemence that it bounced right back. It opened again more gently, and Eric emerged.
I had to gape. He looked positively edible. Eric is very tall, very broad, very blond, and tonight he was dressed in a tuxedo that had not come off any rack. This tux had been made for Eric, and he looked as good as any James Bond in it. Black cloth without a speck of lint, a snowy white shirt, and a hand-tied bow at his throat, with his beautiful hair rippling down his back…
“James Blond,” I muttered. Eric’s eyes were blazing with excitement. Without a word, he dipped me as though we were dancing and planted a hell of a kiss on me: lips, tongue, the entire osculant assemblage. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. When I was quivering, he assisted me to rise. His brilliant smile revealed glistening fangs. Eric had enjoyed himself.
“Hello to you, too,” I said tartly, once I was sure I was breathing again.
“My delicious friend,” Eric said, and bowed.
I wasn’t sure I could be correctly called a friend, and I’d have to take his word for it that I was delicious. “What’s the program for the evening?” I asked, hoping that my host would calm down very soon.
“We’ll dance, listen to music, drink blood, watch the entertainment, and wait for the count to come,” Eric said. “I’m so glad you’ll be here tonight. We have a wide array of special guests, but you’re the only telepath.”
“Okay,” I said faintly.
“You look especially lovely tonight,” said Lyle. He’d been standing right behind Eric, and I hadn’t even noticed him. Slight and narrow-faced, with spiked black hair, Lyle didn’t have the presence Eric had acquired in a thousand years of life. Lyle was a visiting vamp from Alexandria, interning at the very successful Fangtasia because he wanted to open his own vampire bar. Lyle was carrying a small cooler, taking great care to keep it level.
“The Royalty,” Pam explained in a neutral voice.
“Can I see?” I asked.
Eric lifted the lid and showed me the contents: two blue bottles (for the blue blood, I presumed), with labels that bore the logo of a tiara and the single word “Royalty” in gothic script.
“Very nice,” I said, underwhelmed.
“He’ll be so pleased,” Eric said, sounding as happy as I’d ever heard him.
“You sound oddly sure that the-that Dracula will be coming,” I said. The hall was crowded, and we began moving to the public part of the club.
“I was able to have a business discussion with the Master’s handler,” he said. “I was able to express how much having the Master’s presence would honor me and my establishment.”
Pam rolled her eyes at me.
“You bribed him,” I translated. Hence Eric’s extra excitement this year, and his purchase of the Royalty.
I had never suspected Eric harbored this depth of hero worship for anyone except himself. I would never have believed he would spend good money for such a reason, either. Eric was charming and enterprising, and he took good care of his employees; but the first person on Eric’s admiration list was Eric, and his own well-being was Eric’s number one priority.
“Dear Sookie, you’re looking less than excited,” Pam said, grinning at me. Pam loved to make trouble, and she was finding fertile ground tonight. Eric swung his head back to give me a look, and Pam’s face relaxed into its usual bland smoothness.
“Don’t you believe it will happen, Sookie?” he asked. From behind his back, Lyle rolled his eyes. He was clearly fed up with Eric’s fantasy.
I’d just wanted to come to a party in a pretty dress and have a good time, and here I was, up a conversational creek.
“We’ll all find out, won’t we?” I said brightly, and Eric seemed satisfied. “The club looks beautiful.” Normally, Fangtasia was the plainest place you could imagine, besides the lively gray and red paint scheme and the neon. The floors were concrete, the tables and chairs basic metal restaurant furnishings, the booths not much better. I could not believe that Fangtasia had been so transformed. Banners had been hung from the club’s ceiling. Each banner was white with a red bear on it: a sort of stylized bear on its hind legs, one paw raised to strike.
“That’s a replica of the Master’s personal flag,” Pam said in answer to my pointed finger. “Eric paid an historian at LSU to research it.” Her expression made it clear she thought Eric had been gypped, big-time.
In the center of Fangtasia’s small dance floor stood an actual throne on a small dais. As I neared the throne, I decided Eric had rented it from a theater company. It looked good from thirty feet away, but up close… not so much. However, it had been freshened up with a plump red cushion for the Dark Prince’s der riere, and the dais was placed in the exact middle of a square of dark red carpet. All the tables had been covered with white or dark red cloths, and elaborate flower arrangements were in the middle of each table. I had to laugh when I examined one of the arrangements: in the explosion of red carnations and greenery were miniature coffins and full-size stakes. Eric’s sense of humor had surfaced, finally.
Instead of WDED, the all-vampire radio station, the sound system was playing some very emotional violin music that was both scratchy and bouncy. “Transylva nian music,” said Lyle, his face carefully expressionless. “Later, the DJ Duke of Death will take us for a musical journey.” Lyle looked as though he would rather eat snails.
Against one wall by the bar, I spied a small buffet for beings who ate food, and a large blood fountain for those who didn’t. The red fountain, flowing gently down several tiers of gleaming milky glass bowls, was surrounded by crystal goblets. Just a wee bit over the top.
“Golly,” I said weakly as Eric and Lyle went over to the bar.
Pam shook her head in despair. “The money we spent,” she said.
Not too surprisingly, the room was full of vampires. I recognized a few of the bloodsuckers present: Indira, Thalia, Clancy, Maxwell Lee, and Bill Compton, my ex. There were at least twenty more I had only seen once or twice, vamps who lived in Area Five under Eric’s authority. There were a few bloodsuckers I didn’t know at all, including a guy behind the bar who must be the new bartender. Fangtasia ran through bartenders pretty quickly.