The Dinner Vote

Salvatore fumbled with the bow tie, an online video tutorial played on the tablet he’d leaned against the mirror. His pale blue eyes flicked back and forth between the screen and the mirror. The younger man in the video made it seem simple, yet he still struggled.

“Try this,” Eliza said, holding the tablet so it was reflected in the mirror. “Tell me again what this dinner’s about? And why I’m not invited?”

Salvatore found it easier to copy the movements of the video with it mirrored. “It’s about getting me on the board.” He finished tying a respectable bow and looked at the grey at his temples, standing out sharply from his black hair. “I should’ve dyed my hair.”

“No, you shouldn’t. You look distinguished.” Eliza kissed him the top of his head. “Especially in a tux.”

“Distinguished just means old.”

“Take a compliment.” She helped him into his jacket. “Now, why can’t you bring your fiancé to this dinner?”

“Fiancé, huh? When did that happen?”

“This is a common law state. We can claim to be married next year.” She straightened his lapels and stopped with her hands on his chest. “That counts as engaged, right?”

A smirk lit up his eyes. “I can’t argue that logic. But this is only for board members and prospective board members. Some sort of thing they do once a year.”

“I’m proud of you,” Eliza said. “You did the right thing and were rewarded for it.”

“I’m still shocked I have a job,” he said, “much less that I’m being considered for Simmons’ position.”

“What happened to him, anyway? I thought it’d be all over the news by now.”

“Ms. Butcher told me the board would handle it without involving the courts. The negative press would be more of a hit than the four or five million he embezzled.”

Eliza watched his face for a moment. “What are you stressing about now?”

“If they accept me on the board, I’ll be the oldest member.” He shook his head. “How the entire executive board of a large, old-money corporation could all be so young is…odd.”

“Maybe that’s why they’re so successful; new ideas.”

“Hmm.” Salvatore checked his watch. “My ride should be here any minute.”

Eliza gave him a kiss and squeezed his hand. “You’ll do great. Just be yourself.”

The limo pulled up for him as he stepped out his front door. The driver had opened the door for him by the time he reached the curb. It was as though the whole thing had been rehearsed.

The ride was silent, apart from the muted strains of some undefinable orchestral piece that surrounded him from hidden speakers. By the time the limo stopped at a mansion surrounded by woods, Salvatore had lost track of the time and where they’d gone. He checked his watch, an hour’s ride.

Before he could reach for the handle, the driver had opened his door. A woman in a butler’s uniform waited for him at the mansion’s entry. She gave a deep bow as she opened the door and stepped aside for him to enter.

Inside, another similarly suited woman called out, “Mister Salvatore Di Silvio; prospect.”

Across the expansive, marbled foyer, a double door was thrown wide. The music he’d been hearing in the limo carried from the room along with laughter and animated voices.

The woman who’d announced him bowed and said, “They’re expecting you, sir.”

“Thanks.” Salvatore walked to the open doors, the size and plain but rich decor of the foyer impressing him more with each step. Through the doors he entered a warm library with rich brown leather furniture, shelves of antique and likely rare books, a large serving cart on wheels bearing champagne and glasses.

The cart was attended by a young man dressed the same as the other servants. He didn’t ask but poured a glass for Salvatore and handed it to him with a slight bow.

Apart from Ms. Butcher, Salvatore knew the people present only by their images on the corporate website. He could place each to their name but knew nothing else about them.

As Ms. Butcher, CEO and President, looked to be at most thirty, and the oldest member of the board, Salvatore felt like a fish out of water. The other men wore their tuxedos with the casual ease that comes from familiarity, and the women wore their evening gowns with the same ease.

Before he got fixated on how stifling the collar and tie felt, he sipped at the champagne. He tried to make himself look at ease, but found it only made him more self-conscious.

“Welcome, Salvatore.” Ms. Butcher had approached from behind without him noticing.

He avoided jumping, just, and turned to face her. The emerald-green gown she wore made her black eyes shine, and her warm, golden-brown skin glow. Her crayon-red-dyed hair was tied in a sloppy bun that was far too flattering to not be a meticulous design.

“Ms. Butcher,” he said, “it’s an honor.”

“Please,” she said, “my name’s Drusilla, but call me Dru while you’re here, Sal. Can I call you Sal?”

“I—uh—sure. Sal’s fine, Dru.”

“Good. Now that’s out of the way, I think dinner is about to be served. I’ll walk you to the dining room.”

Salvatore found himself seated at the left hand of Ms. Butcher. Around the table sat the rest of the chief executives, minus the former CTO, Daniel Simmons. The collection of twenty-somethings, of all different shades, made Salvatore think of the “United Colors of Benetton” ads he’d seen as a child…before they got tragic.

The thing that stood out the most, though, was that bar himself, everyone at the table had black eyes. Not just dark brown, not even extra-dark brown…black; the iris and pupil indistinguishable.

Rather than the multi-course meal he expected, servants brought out full plates, restaurant style. A large portion of slow-braised pork, pan-seared vegetables, and a flaky roll rounded out the plate. No sooner was the plate set in front of someone than their water glass was filled with ice-cold spring water, and their wine glass generously poured with Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru.

There was none of the standing on etiquette he’d have expected from such a display. Instead, everyone dug in and began small talk; many with their mouths full.

Salvatore followed suit, at least with the eating…he wasn’t one for talking with his mouth full. He noticed that several had already needed a wine refill. He was determined not to get drunk, so he took his time with his.

The pork was succulent and tender. He thought it might be some special pig raised on truffles and champagne or something of the sort, as the taste was exquisite and unique. The vegetables were just cooked, with plenty of snap, and hints of being seared in the rendered fat of the pig. The roll, he thought, was nothing special.

Ms. Butcher tapped her knife against her wine glass. Salvatore was surprised to see that she’d already cleaned her plate while he was only halfway done. “Everyone, my brothers and sisters, we have important business this year.”

The table grew silent aside from the soft clink of silverware on plates as the few still eating continued. Salvatore wanted to set his fork down and listen, but something compelled him to keep eating until his plate was empty.

“Daniel Simmons committed a minor sin, revealing an unforgivable one,” she said. “His minor sin—”

“He got caught!” someone yelled, leading to a round of raucous laughter. As the laughter continued, Salvatore finished his plate. He was hungrier than when he started. The thought of licking the juices off the plate teased at him.

“That’s correct,” Ms. Butcher said, regaining control. “However, Danny also committed the unforgivable sin of stealing from the family; his own brothers and sisters.”

There were tuts and grunts of disdain around the table. Salvatore clasped his hands under the table to keep from grabbing the plate and licking it. The hunger was growing, and he began to feel light-headed. He wondered if he’d been drugged.

“For that reason, Sal is here as a prospect.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from listing to the side as he grew ever more dizzy. “From all signs, it looks like he’s a good candidate.”

The room grew darker in Salvatore’s vision, his eyes fixed only on the small pool of meat juice on his plate. Ms. Butcher’s voice seemed distant, dreamlike, while her hand on his shoulder felt like a vice, holding him in place.

“So, as we have reclaimed all that was Danny’s flesh, and as Sal’s body seems receptive, do any here oppose?”

No opposition was raised outside of Salvatore’s head. Had he heard right? The meat he’d just eaten, that he craved more of, was Daniel Simmons?

In the edges of Salvatore’s awareness, servants carried out the plates, glasses, and silverware. One of them handed a pitcher to Ms. Butcher, while another set out shot glasses filled with something he couldn’t make out.

She put the pitcher in front of his face, and he grabbed it. The smell intoxicated him, channeled all his new hunger toward the dark liquid. He began drinking it down in greedy gulps, not even stopping to catch a breath. By the time the pitcher was empty, his hunger seemed manageable, and his head cleared.

He saw the room clearly now, and by focusing on each of the others present, could see their true nature; ancient and undying, hidden in forever youthful flesh. All eyes were on him, and he realized he hadn’t taken a breath for quite a while.

Salvatore took in a great, deep breath, and sighed with a contentment that he’d never known could exist. The others clapped and welcomed him as a brother, and the new CTO.

Dru pulled him aside. “Avoid mortals for the next month or so, unless one of us is around. It’s for their safety.”

The evening ended with Dru presenting Sal with Danny’s heart. She explained that it wasn’t needed for the transformation, but it was traditional by now. He didn’t hesitate to wolf it down raw.

After the limo dropped him at home, he remembered Dru’s warning. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? He rode an hour in the limo without any problems…unless the driver is…. He let that thought die and checked his watch.

He opened the front door, and the familiar smells of home washed over him. Chief among them, Eliza. She turned the corner in the hall, and he was overwhelmed with emotion and hunger. He loved her more deeply than he thought possible, and at the same time, he wished to devour her; tear her flesh and eat it raw and wash it down with her blood.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” she asked.

“I have to go,” he said. “Don’t wait up.” He slammed the door and ran. He knew there was an automated motel a couple miles down the highway. Without his car keys, though, it might be a long trip.

He was still debating whether to call Eliza and tell her to throw his keys out the window or not when he realized he had run all the way to the motel. His watch showed that he had run two miles, in a tuxedo, in less than six minutes.

He used his debit card at the kiosk to get a room. A look in the mirror as he got out of his tux both surprised him and was completely expected. The grey was gone, along with the faint lines around his eyes. He barely looked twenty, and his light blue eyes had turned black. He checked his teeth, but didn’t see any fangs, and he had no claws nor body hair he didn’t have before.

“I don’t know what I am,” he said to his reflection, “but I feel good, at least.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, too amped up to sleep, wondering what to do next. The sounds of someone exiting the shower in the next room combined with the smell that permeated through the thin walls, made him hungry…he began to wonder if he should go hunting.