A Meeting of the Glorious Immortals

You’ve got this, Felix. You’re practiced and prepared. Show them you were the right choice.

“Good Evening, Everyone! We have a very, very exciting… um, hello? Hi?” The crowd, chatting excitedly amongst themselves, took no notice. He was tempted to tap on the mic as some people do, but he feared that would seem amateurish. 

“Excuse me? Please, everyone…if you would, uh, take your seats and…ok, uh, let’s quiet down. Shush, shush.” 

Felix could feel himself losing patience with the noisy group. His face was pale, angular, and freakishly still, but it had begun to contort into something less than human. A growl rose up from his throat, “RRRRR SILENCE!” The word ripped out of him like an animal being slaughtered. Several of the nearby vampires hissed at him in response. He hissed back, out of instinct more than anything.

It wasn’t how he wanted to start his first meeting, but at least it was effective. They were taking their seats, and most were paying attention, albeit angrily. 

“Ok, folks, welcome to the -” he made a show of checking the banner, “239th meeting of the Glorious Immortals!” He bellowed the name with gusto, then added, “of New England.”

Scattered, unenthusiastic applause flitted around the room.

“Thank you all for coming. I realize I may be a fresh face to some of you. If you’ve read the newsletter, you’ll know my name is Felix Freeman, but you can call me The Lord High Ruler … of our bi-annual meeting of the G.I.N.E.!” He paused and smirked, “Haha! Just kidding, Felix is fine.”

Silence.

Oof, Felix. They did you a favor and gave you this chance, stopping blowing it.

He cleared his throat. “I was lucky enough to be selected to run the chapter after our dear friend Ignatius, as some of you may know, was beheaded for eating his town’s favorite maiden.”

The room was still silent.

“He always did have a sweet tooth.”

Hearty laughter overtook the audience.

Saved it! Phew! Well done, man.

“Ok, so a bit of news and updates, then we’ll get to the celebration!” The room clapped enthusiastically, and he couldn’t help but smile a little. “Great! So first, our favorite Berkshire trio won’t be joining us tonight. Or sadly, ever again. There was a mix-up with the coffins. They were sent to a cemetery and buried while we now have three embalmed senior citizens in the lobby. To make matters worse, when they burst from their confines earlier today, in what we all know is a thrilling bit of synchronized emergence, it was a filthy, sunny afternoon. Naturally, they erupted into flames.”

He shook his head remorsefully.

“May their immortal souls rest in infamy,” the room chanted together.

“Indeed,” Felix continued. “Second order of business, a new vampire hunting group has cropped up in the area. They’re based in Manchester, New Hampshire. We didn’t give them much notice at first. They seemed to be rather ill-equipped university students who, to be honest, looked more delicious than worrisome. However, they have developed a new kind of weapon.”

He used a pair of iron tongs to display a wooden stake with pale green streaks. “This is something called garlic wood,” several vamps hissed at the name. “Some botanist has developed a garlic bulb that grows a woody stalk, and now they’re carving them into these. Disgusting.” He sneered at it. 

“So do be careful. Obviously, the stakes won’t be fatal to us - unless you’re hit in the heart or the head - but the garlic will certainly leave a mark. And we don’t want to spend every moment of the rest of eternity smelling like that, now do we?”

The crowd jeered and booed at the thought. 

You’re killin’ it, Felix!

“Last thing, we just want to remind everyone it’s daylight savings this weekend, so make sure to change your clocks! We all remember what happened last year to the Springfield Six… such a tragedy.”

He straightened his papers and exhaled, “Ok, that’s it for my updates. I’ll open it up to the group. Any other news to share?”

An old, tubby vampire stood up, and a few audience members groaned. “Hi, everyone, most of you know me, I’m Henrik, and I need to talk to you about golden bullets.”

The audience burst into a chorus of moans and shouts. 

“Damn you, Henrik!”

“Always with this conspiracy crap!”

“God, shut up!”

“Henrik, now we know your theory on this, and it’s a good one,” Felix interjected, “but it’s well documented that golden bullets were a myth created by our forefathers to bankrupt the Dutch.”

The crowd murmured in agreement.

“Yes, yes,” conceded Henrik, “and it was quite effective. Van Helsing died penniless and with Smelting Lung. But the Vatican has started selling an ordained version. With a Holy Water center!”

The crowd grew to a bit of a roar then, unsure whether to believe Henrik, “Liar!” someone shouted, “This is just more of the same twaddle!”

“I’m not lying!” The rotund vampire whined, “Look.” He pulled up his cloak. Beneath it, the arm was missing, his shoulder bluntly terminating at a gnarled stump.

Everyone burst out differently then, mad at the Church and angry at Henrik for burying the lead. He had a particular skill for annoying his fellow vampires.

“A group of local hunters pooled their money and bought a box,” Henrik continued. “They killed two of my coven. I was lucky to get away with just a dismemberment.”

“Grr, the damn Vatican!” Felix snarled, slamming a fist down on his podium for effect. “They have more gold than anyone! And holy water. Not good news for We the Immortal Children of Night.” He composed himself again, “Thank you for the info, Henrik. Next time, lead with the dismemberment. Ok, anyone else?”

“Uh, um, yes,” a young-looking vampire stood up near the back of the room, “I’m new, my name is, uh, Morph... uh, Morph-eus. I just wondered, uh, how many are in this group?” His eyes darted around as a bead of sweat rolled down his pale forehead.

“Oh, uh, good question,” Felix responded. “Constance, do you have our latest tally?”

A woman seated at a small desk with neatly coiffed gray hair stopped taking copious notes and removed her cat-eye glasses. She leafed back a few pages in her book, “We are at… forty-seven after you subtract the Berkshire coven and Henrik’s two.”

“And then there’s Miriam,” an old, very tall vampire chimed in, raising one finger in the air. “She went to a tanning salon and burst into flames in the booth.” Everyone looked at him in shock, so he added, “Oh, sorry, guess I should have mentioned that earlier...”

“Uh, yeah, Daminov,” Felix said with a look of utter exasperation. “No tanning, folks! Constance, add that to the list.”

Constance jotted something down and then updated her earlier statement, “Ok, so forty-six then.”

The tall vampire spoke up again, “By the way, am I the only one who can smell a human?” The group mumbled and looked around to see what the others thought.

“Well, dinner will be served soon,” Felix suggested, “maybe that’s what you’re smelling?”

“No, I can smell them next door. This is closer.”

“I ate just before I came here?” Henrik offered, prompting more groans from the group. Of course, he’d eaten right before a feast.

“No, I don’t smell blood. I smell full-on human.”

The group began sniffing the air around them and nodding in agreement, one by one. Meanwhile, in the back of the room, the vampire calling himself Morpheus was trying to discreetly slip out of his row. 

“Excuse me,” he whispered, “I have to go to the bathroom. Excuse me.” Another bead of sweat dripped off his forehead. 

It was too late, though. The group was all facing him now, some still sniffing the air. He tried to act as if he smelled something too, mimicking their sniffs, although rather unconvincingly. He tripped a little as he began fumbling for something under his robe. There was a glint of metal for just an instance before Felix was there, with frightening suddenness, prying a gun out of the imposter’s hand. 

Another vampire restrained the man as Felix inspected the firearm. Small curls of smoke rose from where it made contact with his flesh, but he continued to hold it anyway. “I’m let down, Morpheus. No decorum at all! This is a special night for us.” 

He gently wiped the pale makeup off the man’s forehead, revealing his warm, living, blood-filled flesh beneath.

He opened the gun and fished out a bullet, dropping it on the table before it could burn him too much. “Are these wood-tipped, silver bullets?!” he gave it a whiff, “And with a garlic center?! You monster, Morpheus!” He slapped the man for good measure. “These could do some real damage! Constance, add them to the list. Mark them as ‘non-lethal’ unless - ”

“Yes, unless in the heart or the head, got it,” she interrupted.

Felix turned back to the Interloper, “Morpheus, Morpheus… tsk, tsk, what are we gonna do with you?” he said, slowly for dramatic effect, “Oh, Morph-e-us….”

The human furrowed his brow and looked from side to side, a bit baffled.

The vampire holding him cringed a little and whispered to Felix, although not quite quietly enough, “Just an F.Y.I., boss I think that’s a made-up name. It’s from a movie… The Matrix? Ya know? Keanu Reeves? No?”

Felix felt a flush of embarrassment. Followed by a jolt of anger. Everything had been going so well.

The crowd was watching him closely. 

He narrowed his eyes then, and his fangs slid slowly out as he hissed coolly, “The human can call himself what he likes. To me, he’ll be known as... dinner.”

The room was silent for a beat, then burst into cheers and hisses.

Boom. Take that, Morph - uh, you. You human.

Felix let himself smile proudly. He crossed his arms, and his chest puffed up just a bit. 

What he didn’t do was pay attention to the gun still smoking lightly in his hand. If he’d had more experience with firearms, he would have realized the safety was off, and his finger was on the trigger. 

POP!

A single bullet fired off, startling the crowd. They looked to see where it had gone. Patting themselves and inspecting one another to see if anyone was hit.

Henrik’s eyes opened wide and he staggered a little. He touched his forehead with his one good arm and found a little hole there, still smoking. He tried to look up at it, his head weaving a bit as he did. Briefly, he looked back at the crowd before falling flat on his back with a heavy thud. Dead.

A young female vampire started clapping, clearly thinking that would be the response. It wasn’t. “Sorry,” she whispered sheepishly, stepping back into the crowd.

From the other end of the room, pages turned, a pencil scribbled, and Constance shouted, “Ok, that makes forty-five.”

“Oh dear,” Felix said, trying to sound more contrite than he actually was. “Oof, and right in the head.”