"Dracula burns up in the sun, dumbass."
"Not in the book, remember?"
Victor frowned, and then looked down the drainpipe. "I haven’t read it."
Doug’s eyes popped. "You haven’t read Dracula? Are you kidding? I read it, like, first thing. Well, reread it first thing."
"Yeah, big fuckin’ surprise," said Victor. "Meatball gives himself extra homework to do."
"But it’s like…our instruction manual, right? And in Stoker’s book, Dracula can walk around in daylight all he wants. He’s just powerless then."
Victor picked up a chunk of concrete and pitched it down the drainpipe. Both boys paused to admire the firecracker sounds it made as it fractured and ricocheted in the darkness.
"Well…" said Victor, "so much for your instruction manual. I haven’t read it and I’m doing a hell of a lot better’n you."
Doug had to admit that was true.
"What’ve you been drinking?" asked Victor.
"Nothing," said Doug reflexively. "I don’t drink."
Victor gave him a look.
"Oh…" said Doug. "Right. Well, there are these cows at the university farms—"
"You’ve been drinking cow? Jesus! Aren’t there at least some, like, dork girls you could feed on?"
"I’m working on it. I don’t want to just attack anyone."
"Hey, who’s attacking people? The girls I feed on want it. It’s better than sex," said Victor, then he looked thoughtful. "In fact, afterward, they seem to think all we did was have sex. They go into a kind of daze when I’m doing it, you know?"
No.
"I’m getting really good. I barely leave a mark, and I only take a little. Like as much as a Coke. But I do it enough so’s I’m always full as a tick."
Doug had stopped listening. He was listening, rather, to a rustling echo of footsteps coming from down the pipe. He held up a hand. "Shh, hold on."
The boys squinted down the dark tunnel of the drainpipe. A man was walking slowly down its center, slightly hunched, carrying a silver tray. He wore a knee-length jacket, a vest, a tiny tie. His long face and tired eyes were a perfect mask of boredom.
"The hell?" Victor whispered.
They had all the time in the world to study his approach, though to Doug he gave the impression of the kind of unhurried cartoon tormentor who would always be calmly on your heels, no matter how hard you tried to get away.
He slowed to a stop at the lip of the pipe and glanced with distaste at the decaying animal in the rocks.
"An auspicious place to find you, young masters," he creaked. "My compliments."
"Who the hell are you?" asked Victor. "Why are you here?"
"Remarkable. The incisive quality of your questions staggers me. Allow me a moment of quiet awe."
The man took his moment. The boys looked at each other.
"Now then. I am but an unworthy messenger," the man rasped. "Please accept these gracious invitations from my mistress."
On the silver tray were two small scrolls, tied with red ribbon. Doug hesitated, but then Victor took one, so he did, too.
You Are Invited
to attend
a Light Supper
and
Willing Congregation of Like-minded Individuals
at the Home of
Signora Cassiopeia Polidori
Midnight
The Hawthorne
Chestnut Hill
Watch Your Fingers
No sooner had Doug read the last line than he noticed his invitation was on fire. So was Victor’s. The messenger flipped closed a Zippo lighter as the boys dropped their scrolls and stamped them out.
When the ashes were scattered and dead, the boys turned to watch the man retrace his steps down the pipe.
"Fucking crazy old fuck," said Victor.
"He smelled like you," said Doug. Except not as bad, he thought.
"He smelled like you, you mean. ’Cept not as bad."
"Finally," said Doug. "Cool vampire shit. A secret society."
"I dunno. I’m probably not gonna go. Could be dangerous. You shouldn’t go either."
Doug thought about the Vampire Hunters. He supposed it could be a trap.