Maxwell
Therewassucha thing as too much black, Maxwell thought. Even for a vampire.
Arcane Air Travel’s commitment to catering to their target market’s supposed preferences was evident when it came to the jet’s interior. Instead of glossy woodgrain and plush cream leather, everything was…
Black. Charcoal carpet, black leather seats, onyx side trays, and ebony footrests, accented by an occasional dash of crimson. Even the windows, sealed shut, were painted black. Maxwell appreciated the commitment to a theme, he really did. But was it really necessary for even the smiling flight attendant who kept his whiskey topped up to look like she was dressed for a funeral, albeit a very fashionable one?
Still, it wasn’t like there were a lot of choices when it came to intercontinental travel options for the discerning vampire, so he’d just have to deal with feeling like he was stuck in Goth Barbie’s dream jet.
Black suited his mood, anyway. Maxwell let out a sigh as he stretched out his long legs and leaned back in the recliner. Not that he had any intention of sleeping. Call him old-fashioned – he was born in 1896, after all – but Maxwell simply couldn’t let himself become unconscious in a metal box zooming its way through the clouds.
Maxwell had never flown alone before. When he had crossed from Prague to New York, Chicago to London, the Riviera to Las Vegas, he had always had company. Plenty of lively company to drink with, play cards, and tell ridiculous stories to pass the time. The presence of the smiling flight attendant in her pillbox hat with a black veil didn’t really count.
And alone he was. Since that surprisingly powerful and unjustly vindictive witch had struck him with her pewter wand and laid some unknown curse upon him, his friends – the set of vampires he had been knocking about with for almost a century – wanted nothing to do with him. Couldn’t take the risk, they said, of any nasty side effects touching them. Maxwell had laughed it off and said he’d join them again as soon as he’d managed to get rid of the thing. But it had hurt, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
Letting out another sigh, he sat up, arching his back against the confines of the recliner. Maybe he’d watch another terrible movie to pass the time. It was still another ten hours before they landed in Sydney.
“Can I get you another drink?”
It was the flight attendant again, at his elbow and holding out a half-finished bottle of Glenlivet. Not his favourite, but everything tasted better at altitude.
“Sure,” he said, handing her his glass. “Thanks.”
“Oh, it’s no problem!” she smiled, flashing teeth that had clearly been chemically whitened. “Let me get you a fresh glass, Mr Davidson.”
“You know, you can call me Maxwell,” he said, but he didn’t think it would sink in. The first thirty times hadn’t. He was beginning to suspect that Arcane Air Travel hired its flight attendants based solely on their ability to look good in a tight black dress.
“And can I get you anything else, Mr Davidson?” she pressed. What was her name? Betty? Becky? Becky, he was pretty sure it was Becky. “Maybe a little of the good stuff? Many of our clients say that it takes the edge off the turbulence.”
There hadn’t been any turbulence, Maxwell thought. “Sure,” he said. “Sounds good.” It would give him something to do.
“Would bovine or swine suit you better, Mr Davidson?”
Maxwell thought she had meant the real good stuff. Arcane Air Travel could have thrown in a few pints of O Negative for the price he was paying for this flight. Still, animal blood was better than nothing.
“Let’s do swine,” he said, shrugging slightly. He watched distractedly as she squeezed a plastic bag of dark red liquid into a crystal tumbler.
“Will there be anything else, Mr Davidson?” Becky asked, setting both tumblers in front of him with a too-wide smile. “Can I be of any other service to you? It’s my job to make you happy, after all.” She let out a rather affected giggle.
“I’ve got whiskey and blood,” he said. “That’s all a man like me needs, right?”
Becky giggled again. “You might be right,” she said. “But if there’s anything I can do for you, just ask! I’ll be waiting.” She was looking right at him, biting her lip as though waiting for something.
“I’ll be sure to,” Maxwell said, taking a sip of the whiskey. Becky might get a little too excited if she saw his fangs come out, he thought. She definitely seemed like the vampire groupie type. Of course, that was probably part of why Arcane Air Travel had hired her. He knew how many of his friends would have been only too happy to take any willing warm-blooded woman for a tumble at altitude. But he wasn’t interested. Not after what had happened the last time he had enjoyed a supposedly strings-free dalliance with a stranger.
As Maxwell booted up a movie (Underworld. Not very accurate, but who could resist Kate Beckinsale in tight leather?), he pulled a pack of cards from his pocket and began to shuffle them idly. Technically speaking, he was living his best life. Or afterlife, in his case. He was in a private jet, drinking blood prepared by an all-too-willing human, and he had all the time in the world. Many people, supernatural and human alike, would have given a limb to be in his place right now.
It didn’t make him any happier.
“Oh, are you doing card tricks?” Becky was at his elbow again. “I love magic! I mean, I love card magic. I don’t know much about the real kind, but my sister met this one warlock at Burning Man, and he did all sorts of things to her!”
Maxwell didn’t doubt that for a minute, knowing what he did about warlocks.
“Well, I don’t have any tricks for you,” Maxwell said. “But we could play a few hands if you’d like.” He didn’t suspect Becky would make an especially entertaining opponent, but beggars couldn’t be choosers at 35,000 feet. It was better than sitting alone with his thoughts.
“Yes, please!” Becky sat down opposite him, looking expectant. “What are we playing?”
“Do you know Texas Hold’Em?” Maxwell asked, sure she would. “Or we could do five-card draw, given it’s just the two of us.”
Becky’s face fell. “Is that poker? I don’t know how to play poker. Maybe you could teach me!”
“Maybe another time.” Maxwell had absolutely no desire to teach Becky how to play poker. “What games do you know? Gin Rummy? Hearts?”
“Mostly, my brother and I just played Go Fish,” Becky confessed, looking a little ashamed.
“Go Fish it is then,” Maxwell sighed, shuffling the pack – Bicycle Playing Cards, perfectly serviceable for everyday use – and beginning to deal.
It was going to be a very long flight.