32. Brody
Brody
Tomorrow is the big day. Or at least tomorrow is the day we go to Hele House, there’s a casual evening planned to meet some of the High Council and the other people who are pitching.
Then we present our investment opportunity the following afternoon, while everyone sits in like a big auditorium.
After that there’s the gala event, with a drinks reception and then dinner and over the course of the evening the guests pledge amounts to each business…
like a combination of Dragon’s Den and a silent auction.
I’m fucking terrified. There’s still some final finessing of the pitch but we’re pretty much there. My bigger concern is the fact we are actually going to Hele House. And I have no idea what to take with me.
There’s a knock on my door and Matt’s head appears around it, as if he’s been dismembered. A shiver runs down my spine but I force myself to ignore it. I’m just seeing things, the macabre part of my overactive imagination jumping to conclusions. Jesus Christ, I’m nervous.
“Are you packing?” he asks, pushing the door fully open to reveal the cup of tea he’s brought me.
“Trying to,” I reply and motion to the mountain of shit covering my bed.
“Did a bomb explode in here?”
I motion again to the piles. “What the hell am I meant to wear to a vampire retreat in the middle of fucking nowhere?”
Matt puts the tea down and then turns to the pile of doom – as the aforementioned chaos will now be known. “Well, let’s start with the things we know and then go from there.”
Sometimes Matt is a fucking disaster zone and sometimes he actually engages his brain and becomes surprisingly useful to have around in a crisis.
“OK.” I take a few steps to swipe the mug of tea and take a huge gulp. It’s bitter and lukewarm warm and it takes all my resolve not to spit it straight back into the cup like an ungrateful jerk.
“Hey. That was mine.”
That explains it. “Sorry, I thought you were coming in here with tea to be all helpful and lovely.” I add a touch of sarcasm to my tone.
“I bought you tea about twenty minutes ago.”
“Did you?”
He points at a mug on the other bedside table.
“Oh. Thanks.”
He shakes his head slightly, even though this feels very much like he’s the one who crept up on me and didn’t actually announce his arrival.
He sometimes forgets that he’s basically a ninja in terms of stealth.
I’ve joked a number of times about putting a bell round his neck like we did to our childhood cat who was otherwise prone to stalking small birds and leaving little gifts on my desk.
Just one of the many reasons why I prefer dogs.
“Anyway. Let’s sort this packing out. Give me a rundown of the itinerary for the weekend.” He finds himself a perch on the edge of the bed, the pile of doom tottering dangerously as he shifts his weight.
“Right. So we get there tomorrow evening. It’s a bit casual apparently, some kind of buffet spread and a few drinks.”
“So vampire casual or normie casual?” he asks as he picks up a shirt from the pile.
“Definitely vampire casual.”
“So, dark jeans, white shirt. That one you bought last month that’s that thick fabric. Nothing says cheap shirt like the outline of your man-tits.”
“I don’t have man-tits.”
He stares at me, just for a second, but it’s long enough for the message to be loud and clear. “Perhaps I need to start hitting the gym again.”
“Yeah. Like three months ago,” he says under his breath. I think he’s joking, I’m really not in bad shape. Things haven’t gone that badly wrong recently, but perhaps I should start making more of an effort. He rips me from my reverie. “You’ll want to wear a nice pair of leather brogues.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Brogues?”
“All the vampires wear brogues.” He shrugs. “You need to remember that most vampires are fucking ancient and therefore have shit taste.”
“Ari has excellent fashion sense,” I counter.
“She’s a girl, it’s different. There are only two types of male vampire in the fashion stakes.” He raises his index finger. “First are the experimentals.”
“Like Ivan?”
“Exactly like Ivan. These are the vampires who do not give a fuck and will wear whatever they like, no matter what other vampires, or normies for that matter, think about what they’re dressed in.
I’m going to be one of them,” he says with an almost wistful tone.
But I’m glad to see he’s starting to think about his vampire identity.
He needs to. He clears his throat and continues to talk, this time raising his middle finger to meet the other.
“Second are the die-hard traditionalists. These guys are all good suit, perfect half inch of cuff shown under the jacket, impeccable hair, shoes shone to within an inch of their lives.”
I make a face. Sharp dressing has never exactly been my forte. I much prefer a pair of joggers and a hoodie; the cosier the better.
“Everyone at this weekend will be a traditionalist. They are friends of Andrei Hele after all.”
He has a good point. “So I need to wear a full suit tomorrow?”
“No. White shirt, jeans, brogues. And a suit jacket to complete the look. That screams newbie who wants to fit in with them, and that’s the closest to fitting in you’re going to achieve.”
I dig though the pile until I find my darkest jeans and the shirt he was talking about. “I don’t suppose you have any brogues? Or a jacket?” I smile hopefully.
“Fuck’s sake, Brody. Let’s just go and raid my wardrobe instead, shall we?”
“Good plan,” I say and we head to Matt’s room.
“What about the formal dinner?” he asks, as we stand shoulder to shoulder staring into his wardrobe.
I shrug and he turns to look at me.
“You’re not exactly giving me a lot to work with here.” He turns back to stare into the abyss of black suits and shirts lined up.
“I didn’t want Ari to think I was an idiot who didn’t understand these things,” I say softly. I feel myself blush.
“But you are an idiot who doesn’t understand these things.” He says it gently, like he only sort of means it.
“I know. But she doesn’t need to know that.”
“So how are we going to figure out what you need to take with you?”
I turn slowly, the expression on my face half grimace and half grin.
“Fine.” He pulls out his phone and calls Ivan.
I try not to listen to their exchange, partly from curtesy and partly because there are things that will haunt my nightmares if I let them, I really do not need to know that level of detail about what they do when they’re alone.
It’s pretty obvious they’re more than friends, but Matt hasn’t told me much in the way of specifics yet.
Eventually he moves on to the question at hand.
After a series of “yes” and “I see” and “ahem” he tells Ivan he’ll see him soon and then hangs up.
“So?” I ask, fingers crossed that Ivan has imparted his two centuries of vampire wisdom.
“It’s a white tie gala evening.”
“White tie? Don’t you mean black?”
“Apparently not.” He makes a face that tells me he has also never heard of white tie. But then his phone beeps and he turns the screen to show me. Ivan has sent him a link to a few pictures of penguin suits.
“I don’t suppose you have one of these magic white ties?” I ask Matt, knowing full well that he does not own a penguin suit. At least not yet.
There’s another beep.
“Ivan’s on his way.” A tiny smile creeps over Matt’s face at the thought of seeing him. “He’s going to lend you one.”
There’s an awkward moment where I’m standing in my underpants being appraised by my best friend’s new boyfriend – new vampire boyfriend – and I have never felt so exposed in my entire life.
“Do you work out?” Ivan asks, as he pulls out a black jacket. The front is cropped with covered buttons and the back is long, with actual pleats. I’m going to look ridiculous.
“Ummm…” I never know what I’m meant to say in answer to that question.
Not much, is the truth. But I’m also painfully aware that I won the genetic lottery and have a natural six pack and a broad muscular back.
Most people prefer to imagine I work my arse off.
Like it’s some kind of punishment. I open my mouth to mention the man-tits, but decide to stay quiet.
I don’t want Ivan to think I’m weird, or a bit of a dick.
Ten minutes later and I’m standing in the suit in front of the mirror. Ivan is a fucking magician. I look amazing. Like seriously good.
“Oh. One final thing,” Ivan says as he plucks a scrap of deep red silk from his bag and deftly folds it into a square. “You want people to think you’re vampire right?”
I nod.
“The human rules of white tie say you should wear a white square, but all vampires wear a red one. This will stop them looking too hard.” He tucks the square into the breast pocket and then stands back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect.”
Matt is staring at me, his mouth open. “Umm… Just one question.” He raises his index finger. “What the fuck are you meaning about pretending to be vampire?”
I bite my lip and avoid making eye contact with him.
“Does Andrei Hele think you’re a vampire?” The way he’s asking this makes me think that maybe it isn’t the best idea anyone has ever had.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell him, as if that is a whole answer in itself. I’m somewhat sheepish. I might not have been strictly truthful with Matt about this element of the plan.
“Andrei Hele thinks you’re a vampire?” His voice rises by an octave.
I nod.
“You’re a fucking idiot.”