Page 72 of The Cannon
“She’s crazy,” Sawyer says pitching a thumb at me.
“If he didn’t look so handsome in that tuxedo, I’d find another blood sucker to go to the party with.”
Jude laughs and takes a good look at himself in the mirror.
“I like it. This looks real,” he says touching the trail of blood that runs out one corner of his mouth. The pale face and black hair complete the look.
“Sit,” I say to Sawyer.
“Bossy,” he says taking a seat in front of the mirror. “Don’t you realize I’m the Alpha of this pack? The protector of you two. Show more respect, woman. He understands.”
I catch sight of Jude in the mirror. He’s smiling but there’s a sort of longing in his eyes. Oh, honey. Your wounds run deep, and you don’t even know what’s coming. It’s breaking my heart.
* * *
“Is my cape straight?”I say running a hand behind me.
“Looks great. Ready to blow everyone’s mind, Jude?” Sawyer says.
Getting into the spirit of the night, Jude wraps the cape across the bottom half of his face. He rings the doorbell.
Music can be heard from here, and when the door swings open, the iconic song fills the night.Spooky.
An eighty-six-year-old Elvis greets us, aka Grandpa Davis. He curls his lip and strikes a pose reminiscent of The King’s white jumpsuit phase.
“Thank you very much for coming,” he says a l Elvis speak.
Then he looks Jude up, down,stem tostern as Grandma Birdie says.
“Well you’re the best-looking vampire yet. You know we’re a family of vampires?”
“That’s what Bristol said.”
“Come in, let me show you what we’re talking about.”
Walking inside on Halloween night never fails to delight me. Tonight more than ever. I get to share this with my man and the boy who has captured our hearts. I hope he can enjoy the party.
The house has been transformed into a haunted mansion. Seating is pushed against the walls making each room into a dancehall. No surprise they are already crowded. This and the Firefly Ball are the parties everyone wants to be invited to.
Sawyer and Jude are taking in the decorations.
“This is cool,” Jude says mostly to himself.
“Is that you?” Sawyer points to the large oil painting hanging to his left, high on the wall.
“It’s me. I’ve been immortal for years now,” I say.
Replacing my mother’s watercolors usually hung on the thirteen-foot walls are her portraits of the Swift Family Vampires. We are a deadly pack of blood suckers who only show our pale faces one day a year. All sharp-fanged with menacing expressions.
Each sports black high-necked capes lined in red, and white dress shirts. Every painting includes something portraying our individual personalities.
I’m wearing a stethoscope dipped in blood. Grandma Birdie wears her bloodied pearls and a sweet smile. Grandpa Davis a red bow tie to match the blood on his fangs. Atticus wears a mischievous grin as he palms a baseball. His fingertips are stained blood red.
Mother’s self-portrait has her holding an artist’s brush dipped in blood, and Dad’s shows him about to sip a Jack Daniels that’s suspiciously red. Brick’s mouth has a trail of blood dripping from one corner while he reads a contract.
Last year Charlotte and Mallory were added as mother-daughter immortals. And just this month January and Beauregard joined the pack. She sits holding her vampire baby, like a Madonna in a religious painting. On her neck are bite marks with little dots of blood. Beauregard’s baby teeth have sprouted early. Fangs.
Even the animals are represented. The Colonel and Scarlett’s portrait hangs right in the center of the wall. Out of all the reactions, this is the one to get the most laughs. The menacing vampire dachshund, lip curled as it is when he senses an intruder. But bright red blood drips from his canine fangs.
