A Place To Belong: Chapter Five

Chapter V

Show Me Your Fangs

As I stepped out of the car I handed the keys to the valet, quickly memorizing his face. I never understood people who completely dismissed those they saw as lower than them in service industries. You should always know the faces of those you allow to handle what’s yours, otherwise you’ll never know who really has power over your property. He was a young kid with a nervous energy and shifty eyes. 

“Take good care of her,” I said, adding the authoritative edge to my voice, watching with satisfaction as his demeanor shifted from suspicious to obedient. 

“Yessir,” he muttered vaguely as he got into the car and drove it to a space. I pocketed the ticket he’d given me and walked into the restaurant. 

Inside was a gaudy portrayal of wealth. Golds and creams assaulted my vision in poor lighting meant to hide details and soften edges. Men in grey and blue suits sat with women preened like birds, either too old to be dressed as they were or too young to be sipping the champagne in front of them. Perfumes and colognes meant to cover the stench of corruption wafted through the air like fumes in a sewer. I stood out slightly, my red and black suit somehow mirrored the colors of the staff, though the quality of my outfit would certainly not place me among them. 

The matre’di, an older man in a well fitting, though pedestrian, suit, nodded at me and asked in a somewhat condescending tone, “Table for one, sir?”

I smiled at him, and I saw a quiet unease enter his features. 

“No, thank you,” I replied politely. “I’m here to meet my party.” 

I pulled the license out of my pocket and looked at the name again. Peter Koch, the son of Congressman Allen Koch, who was well known for his love of this particular restaurant and had a standing reservation here, was staring back up at me from the picture. Smiling again, I pocketed the license and turned back to the matre’di. 

“Allen Koch’s table, please,” I requested, my wolfish grin growing wider. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” the matre’di said, his tone becoming sharper. “Mr. Koch dines in a private room and doesn’t have your name on his list of approved guests.” 

“How would you know without knowing my name?” I asked, smoothly, seeing a flicker of annoyance cross his face. 

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to leave, or I will be forced to call security to escort you out,” he said in a practiced way, his finger already heading to the “secret” button under the host station. 

“No,” I said, authority creeping into my voice. “You won’t. Hands at your side.” 

His hands snapped down to his sides as he looked at me in horror. 

“Better,” I said, smoothing my suit. “Best you show some respect.” 

I looked around the restaurant, noting not a single person had noticed our disagreement. A few eyes looked up at me, mostly those of bored women who were growing tired of their dates’ conversations on business, wealth, politics, or any other fruitless attempts at seeming interesting and powerful. I felt a faint curiosity as to why they would be eyeing me, outside being a novelty here, cross my mind, but I returned my focus to the task at hand. 

“Take me to Allen Koch,” I told the matre’di, the authority remaining in my voice. “Now.”

Without a word, the matre’di walked forward, leading me to the private room where Allen Koch was dining. 

It was clear to me at a glance what kind of man he was. He was a typical politician by all accounts who still thought his natural abilities were enough for him to be successful, the kind of man who peaked in high school and never had to evolve past the person he was then. The suit jacket he wore was too big because his shoulders used to be wider, probably the size he wore back when he had much more muscle mass that had since deteriorated due to lethargy or age. He firmly believed that his body was the same because to admit otherwise would mean he needed to admit his own weakness. His hair was even worse, styled in a combover that showed he still thought his natural hair was a permanent feature. Men like him thought everything that made them worth anything to anyone was a permanent fixture in the world. One day he’d learn of the impermanence of life. That day was probably today.

Beside him sat a woman, too young to be the mother of his son, and too attractive to be his wife. I flipped through my mental catalog from the research I’d done on my phone before crashing this party. His wife, Sandra, was a fifty-three year old heiress to a paper product empire, and about as interested as the paper plates that made her grandfather rich. This woman was probably in her late teens or early twenties, though I had sincere doubts that even if she’d crossed the threshold of her third decade of life, let alone that she was old enough to drink. 

Her dress was low cut, low enough that Allen probably didn’t know the color of her eyes. She wore jewelry much too fine for a woman of her obvious stature in life. The clothing was just as expensive, but her hair dye and styling were cheaply done, probably a home job, and her makeup application was slapshod at best. Probably learned from watching an online tutorial. She was a child playing dressup and he was a predator taking advantage. 

Apples and trees, it seemed. 

“Good evening, Allen,” I said, cooly, as I sat down, draping a napkin across my lap. “Taking your granddaughter out for her high school graduation?”

Allen Koch’s face turned red as he slammed his fork down on the table, sloshing a bit of au jus on the table, staining the cream colored cloth. 

“Who are you!” he shouted, though by his tone it was clearly a non-question. “And how dare you come in here and…” 

“Be still,” I said, the authority edging back into my voice, and even though he struggled more than the others I’d commanded earlier this evening, he relented and stilled. “Good boy, now wait until I’m ready for you.” 

I turned to the young woman, smiled my wolfish smile, and spoke to her with no authority in my voice. 

“How old are you, dear?” I asked, my voice smooth and calm. 

“I’m twenty three,” she said. Her answer was quick, rehearsed. I felt her blood surge and her heart pound quicker in her chest. I could practically see her pulse in her neck. Every tell, every indication, was highlighted in my eyes as though illuminated in neon. 

“You’re lying.” Much like how Allen spoke to me, it was not a question. “Tell me how old you are.”

“I’m…” her eyes flicked to her date then back to me. I could see the fear in her eyes. “I’m…”

Casually I looked over at Allen, his eyes bulging in his skull, his lips twitching as though he was fighting desperately to scream or command. He was a man used to being listened to and heeded, sitting here, his autonomy taken away from him. My grin widened as I turned back to the girl. 

“How. Old.” I said again, no edge of authority granted by my new power, but the authority I’d learned from years of working with children like her. 

“Seventeen,” she said, her voice and spirit broken, eyes cast down, hands retreating from the table into her lap.

“I see,” I say, feeling the anger roiling up in me again, the beast howling inside me like a storm, but kept my calm composure on the surface. “And what’s your name?”

“Emily,” she said, no resistance now, and no hint of a lie. 

“Emily,” I repeated. “Do you know the difference between a pedophile and an ephebophile?”

“N… no?” she said, uncertainly. 

“I’m not surprised,” I said, smiling as warmly at her as I could with the ice I felt in my veins. “Only pedophiles and etymologists know the difference.” 

She looked blankly at me, unsurprisingly. Few pretty young girls who were playing concubine to dirty old pedophiles knew the definition of etymology as it was. However, a quick glance at Allen told me he understood every word perfectly, picking up my insinuations just fine. 

“Well, Emily, it seems your evening is at an end. I assume you have money to get yourself a ride home?” I told her. “Allen and I have business to attend to.”

“I… yes, I can,” she nodded, rising to her feet. 

“A moment,” I said, raising my hand to her, making her pause and look back fearfully at me. “I recommend you lose Allen’s number. He’s about to become very busy, and your company will become quite a distraction for him and his family. I recommend that you return to school and finish out your obligations.” 

Emily’s face turned red. 

“How dare you…” she started, her fear of me vanishing in a fit of juvenile anger. 

My eyes flashed at her, as I tapped into my beast’s anger, my voice cold as ice as I spoke. 

“Quiet, child,” I said, the steel in my tone causing her to freeze, the fear returning. “You are a stupid little girl playing at games beyond your understanding. Either return to a place where you can learn how to play, or they’ll be dredging your body out of a lake somewhere after finding a suicide note on your desk that uses words you couldn’t spell properly, let alone define.” 

She recoiled as if I’d slapped her. 

“What… what do you…” 

“No, what do you think happens to the underaged mistresses of married congressmen? Do you think they grow up to marry said congressman? Do you think the wives forgive and forget? Do you think the courts wave off pedophila charges? Well… for priests and republicans that seems to be common enough, but which do you think he’d prefer to do once he grows bored with you or you become more trouble than you’re worth? Pay you off each month for the rest of his life, or pay off his little ‘fixers’ once to make sure you never cause him problems again?”

Her eyes darted from me to him, a new flash of fear streaking across her features. 

“He… he wouldn’t… he’d never…”

“What makes you think you’re the first?” I asked, unsure if she was, doubting it, but gambling on her doubt and fear being enough right now to send her over the edge. 

My words hung in the air between us, a silent threat of being another in a long line of missing girls. She didn’t even need to believe she was the first of his playthings thrown away, she just had to remember the countless other girls who’d gone missing while in the company of men in powerful positions. Fear won out in her heart, as it does every time with those who are weak-minded. She hurried off, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. We watched her go, myself with satisfaction; Allen with rage, fear, and frustration. 

“Now, Allen, to business,” I said, turning my attention to him, slipping the authority back into my voice. “Stay in your seat and speak softly. We mustn't cause a scene.” 

“You son of a bitch,” Allen said, his voice hoarse, though I could tell he was aching to scream at me. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

“I do,” I said calmly, folding my hands on the table. “Like father, like son, apparently.” 

“What are you talking about?” Allen asked, fear entering his eyes. 

I took out his son’s driver’s license from my pocket and threw it on the table in front of him. 

“I ran into the chip off your old block earlier this evening,” I said, grinning. “We had a disagreement about how he was treating a young lady. Though, in his defense, she was older than your particular prey.” 

“What did you do to my son?” he asked, his voice hard as flint, though I could see the panic set in his eyes. 

“Nothing irreversible,” I assured him. “He’ll be home by tomorrow after having had a very long time to reflect on his poor behavior. I was actually coming here because I felt that perhaps, with your connections and influence, you’d want to do something to straighten that boy out. I’ve discovered since getting here that he probably learned his misogyny from you.” 

“I swear to God, I will ruin you for this! I will break you down and make you wish that you…” I held up my hand again, silencing him without a word. 

“What’s my name?” I asked him, quietly. 

He paused, staring at me with a sudden realization that he knew nothing about this stranger in front of him that seemed to be pulling on his strings like a master puppeteer. Who’d, in a single evening, dismantled everything that was of value to him, except his image, which remained intact only because, for the moment at least, I willed it to. 

“Who are you?” he asked, an edge of fear finally slipping from his eyes to his voice. 

Sudden inspiration struck me. The name I’d used in my life was no longer going to be of benefit to me. That man was dead and useless. I needed a new name. One that could grant me the mystique I needed to operate my plans while still giving me a presence within the city. 

“You can call me Grey,” I told him, smiling my wolfish smile. “Grey Cardinal.” 

“Mr. Cardinal,” Allen replied, making it clear to me that he did not understand the nomenclature of my chosen name. “I’m sure we can work something out, you’re clearly a powerful man, given my current… situation. If there’s something you want, either I, or someone I know, can get it for you. I could be a much more valuable ally than enemy, I’m sure you understand. “

“I do understand,” I said, rising from my seat, placing the napkin on the table and stepping closer to him. “You, as an asset, can grant me access to power and influence far beyond what I’m able to reach in my current form.” 

“Asset?” Allen asked, a tone of nervousness entering his voice. “You mean ‘ally,’ right?” 

I took another step closer, the beast whispering to me each step of what I needed to do to achieve my goal. 

“Be silent,” I told Allen Koch, pushing authority through my voice like a dagger through his heart. His voice vanished, though his mouth was open as if in a scream, eyes wide in panic, unable to run. I reached down and gripped his wrist, rolling back his sleeve to expose the throbbing artery in his wrist. 

My fangs were not long. They didn’t need to be. Subtly is the art of my game. My words and plans strike fear into the hearts of my prey. I have no need for flashy displays. I drank of his blood, it was rich, fatty, and corrupt. It tasted like an overpriced wine, but everything tastes better when it’s free. I drank deeply, quelling the beast in the back of my mind, but stopping as I felt his body begin to weaken. I stopped, rolling my tongue over the wound, closing it. Strength flooded me, as if stolen from his own perception of himself rather than from his true body. 

The beast, now sated, directed me with calm patience born of understanding a common goal. I took my fangs and made a neat cut on my wrist, forcing Allen Koch’s mouth open, dripping my own blood… not blood anymore… vitae… pouring my own vitae into his mouth, dripping down his throat and invigorating him… ghouling him. 

“How are you feeling, Allen?” I asked, licking my own wound, closing it as well. 

“I’m… I’m fine,” Allen said, his words slurred and his voice dreamy. 

“I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight,” I said to him, smiling as I picked up the discarded napkin and dabbed daintily at my lips. “Perhaps we should finish this meeting tomorrow night? What do you say we meet at your office tomorrow evening, around eight?” 

“Yeah…” Allen said, nodding absently. “Tomorrow night.” 

“Be sure to put it in your calendar,” I said, no need to push the point with my authority. He was mine now, or at least the process had been started. “Oh, and don’t sign anything until I have a chance to look it over with you, understood?”

“Understood,” he said, nodding. 

“Good,” I said, grinning as I helped him from his seat, walking towards the door. “Now, let's get your driver to take you home.”

As I watched his driver roll away with Allen in tow and stood waiting for the valet to bring me the car, I looked up at the night’s sky and grinned, not bothering to hide my fangs in the darkness, enjoying the game of cloak and dagger that I’ve begun.