Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Chauvelin was a modern vampire with enough age to view the social media patterns of youths with suspicion and fear. His expertise as an agent of the FBI made him understand far better than his betters what kind of danger they were in.
“He’s just freaking out,” Carter said. “It’s fine. It’s the internet. Nothing real happens on the internet.”
Because neither Gideon nor Ray could see, touch, or taste the internet, they were inclined to agree. So Chauvelin’s pleas for Carter’s activities in cyberspace to be reined in were not heard.
At least, not until later that night, when a cacophony of guard hounds at the gate indicated a small but robust party of young people milling about the front. They were lit up by their cellphones, and easily visible at a distance to the great many vampires dwelling in Gideon’s home.
There had been very little in the way of slaughter, in accordance with traditional living practices. It was never good form to take too many humans from the local area, lest they become furious and start going about with pitchforks and such. An exception, however, had always been made for bands of travelers causing trouble, due to the fact that the locals quite appreciated having such people, traditionally bandits and such, removed from the vicinity.
The youngsters at Gideon’s gates knew nothing of this, of course. They knew the rules of their world, which were that when something cool was found on the internet, the most invested fans would go out and find it.
“I told you!” Chauvelin practically danced next to Ray and Gideon, a vehement little shadow. “I told you Carter would give away your secrets. They are here because of him.”
“Is this true?” Gideon turned to Carter with a raised brow. He had taken to keeping a personal eye on the fledgling, knowing that Maddox was absent from the home, no doubt embroiling himself in the dramas of the family Carter had come from.
“What? Yeah. I guess.”
Carter turned up the volume on his phone and held it out so the origin of all evil could see what was going on at his own front door. There were multiple feeds from multiple accounts, and all of them were being broadcast from his doorstep.
Outside…
A man who was far too old to be doing such things stuck his tongue out at his phone and opened his mouth in a wide leer, while performing odd contortions with his fingers.
Behind him, a pretty college girl who should probably have been studying for a final of some kind undulated her body in a repetitive, simple dance, glow sticks in her hands.
A cacophony of voices announced the same events at the same time, all speaking over one another, none hearing the other.
“We’re here outside the vampire manor.”
“I’m here, at the vampire lair!”
“Is this where Carter lives? We’re gonna find out on Creepy Cribs!”
“We’re going to see if VampireCarter is legit, or if he’s been faking it with filters and SFX. It’s my belief that VampireCarter is a fraud. I’ve got the evidence, and now I’m getting the receipts.”
The vloggers, streamers, and tubers were all making their own videos, consulting one another on the best filters and templates, tinny music blaring into the night. They were paying absolutely no attention to the tall, elegant, dangerous figure sliding through the night toward them.
The tall iron gates keeping them out and the vampires in swung open slowly in the dark night’s mist. There was so much drama in the moment that some of the vloggers actually put their phones down for a moment and took several steps back. They were the ones with a modicum of sense, but the bolder ones surged forward, phones held up like crucifixes of old, rear cameras lit with tiny torchlight which illuminated Gideon’s unholy handsome face.
He had clothed himself in what they would have called vintage velour, a suit with clean lines and flair in equal measure. His lower legs and feet were clad in shining black boots, long, to the knee. His hair flowed around his head in a dark raven curtain, framing his deep, twisted gaze. He appeared to the Gen Z’ers as an incredibly beautiful man, so perfectly graceful and elegant they found themselves entirely ignoring the danger he represented.
Programmed to trust all things pretty, they had no inkling of the danger they were in. They had no comprehension of the incredible evil before which they stood. They were far too distracted by the trappings of majesty and power.
“Hello, children,” he purred, not bothering to ask the obvious question as to the reason of their presence.
Fenwick, @fafferspunk, took the lead. He was a handsome man in his twenties, late acne still hanging about his jaw. His hair was a garish orange and green, and he wore a t-shirt with a graphic image of his own face on it. He was self-important, narcissistic, and devoid of the charm he imagined he exuded. He smelled delicious.