Consultation with a Vampire - 01 Read Free Page B

detected a note of true fear in his lawyer’s voice.  
    “They said they couldn’t get an appointment any other way. The guy... what’s his name? Something French. Da Chevy, Da Shoe, nah, nah. DeChevue, that’s it. He said he called and called, but Agnes never answered. She never returned his messages. He said he lost patience, and then he told me a long, boring story about how he’s immortal and how he has patience on a scale that I would never understand. Blah, blah, blah. And let me tell you, Edwin, this guy has to be immortal to take that friggin’ long to tell a story. You know, if the sun hadn’ta come up, I think that lispy French faggot would still be talking.”
    “Agnes, do you know anything about this?” Edwin asked.
    “I simply assumed the man was deranged, or a teenager playing merry hod with telephonic high jinks.”
    “You did not deliver a message to me?” Edwin asked.  
    “Edwin, people who call for an appointment in the middle of the night are not serious people. Business hours must be maintained.”
    “Agnes, people who call for an appointment in the middle of the night can be serious people in other time zones.”
    “Yes, well, he was French, and I didn’t like the sound of him. It is a secretary’s job to interpose.”
    “Interpose?” Edwin asked.
    "Yes, like a faithful squire diving in front of a crossbow bolt to save his lord and master, I interpose myself between you and the absurdities of the world," Agnes said, her voice rising to fever pitch.
    “Hey! HEY!” Topper interjected. “I don’t mean to interrupt your office meeting here, but I’m in trouble.”
    “Oh, Topper,” Agnes said. “When are you not in trouble?”
    Edwin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Topper, are you unharmed?”
    “Unharmed? E, I’ve been kidna– taken hostage! My dignity is wounded. Very, very wounded.”
    “Physically, are you in good condition?”
    “I think this ordeal is going to stunt my growth. C’mon, what do you want me to say? I’m pissed. And they ain’t got nothing to eat in this joint.”
    “What are their demands?” Edwin asked, hoping to bring this conversation to some kind of actionable conclusion.  
    “Oh, right. They want to schedule an appointment. They say they’re not going to let me go unless you meet with them. I told them Edwin Windsor does not negotiate with terrorists. I mean, I know you negotiate with and for terrorists all the time, but it just seemed like the thing to say.”
    “Fine,” Edwin said. “I will meet with them. We will stand by for a call after—” Edwin could scarcely believe that he was going to utter such a word for such a reason. “Sundown,” he said, to finish the thought.
    “You gonna give in to their demands?” Topper asked.
    “Here, I must agree with the foul little man,” Agnes said. “You must not reward their behavior.”  
    “For all we know, this is a simple misunderstanding. It will not hurt me to meet with these people,” Edwin said. But somewhere, deep in the recesses of his brain, the dark thought that it might hurt them surfaced. Edwin shook his head to clear it of such nonsense. Vengeance was not an activity in which a serious man partook. There was no profit in it.  
    When the call was concluded, Agnes said, “I will not, I will not, allow you to go gallivanting off into the darkest night for some midnight rendezvous with disturbed individuals who believe themselves to be vampires. And I especially will not allow it with French vampires.”
    “But what about Topper?”
    "The Half-Hostage? Let him rot, I say. Good riddance to the small nuisance."
    "Hmmm," Edwin said.
    "You do not agree?"
    "No, no," Edwin said. "It's not that. I was just wondering how long they could manage to hold on to him."
    "We are discussing Topper, are we not? That vile little creature, lawyer, scurrying piece of vermin extraordinaire? You believe he can put up some kind of credible resistance?”
    "There is a saying common among the