Chapter Text
The urge to seek out a third glass of champagne was nearly overwhelming, to the point that Vlad was surprised at himself. He had very strict, self-imposed rules about such things; openings and gala events were limited to two glasses of wine or champagne, or a single glass of liquor for sipping. These rules were made even more pressing when he was donating large sums of money. Vlad had learned that lesson years ago: alcohol and his check book were bosom buddies who had to be kept separate at all costs.
“Mayor Masters,” the scruffy young man in whom Vlad had been attempting to invest some sort of interest pulled his wandering mind away from the concession table. “It’s like this, man. You big, important government people just don’t get it. We’re the heart and soul of Amity Park, yeah? And that’s why I made my sculpture, RetroRainbowSadTimes. Because times are scary and you guys aren’t doing anything and it’s not like we the people can do anything because even acknowledging the establishment gives it power over us, ya dig?”
Vlad glanced once more at the concrete rainbow statue that dominated the center of the gallery. Not for the first time that evening, Vlad regretted his contribution to the establishment that housed such an artistic farce. Some might have called his donation extravagant. Others, certain dark haired teenage heroes for example, would think it part of some dastardly clever plot. In truth, Vlad had felt (at the time) that donating the remainder of the funds required by the Amity Arts Council to be an excellent idea. The mayor considered himself a true patron of the arts and when the council approached him with their tale of woe he acted with little thought. Of course he would fund them. Vlad was in need of some public mayoral do-gooding anyway. He probably should have asked to see the art first. They obviously had vastly different ideas on what the word ‘art’ meant.
“So your motivation behind this piece-”
“Nah man, don’t try to find my reasons,” the youth interrupted. Vlad remained perfectly placid, cool smile never faltering. He would simply haunt this hack later; the lad was too far beneath him for Vlad to lose his composure. “You just don’t get it. You gotta think about how it makes you feel.”
Vlad nodded. “Perhaps you are right,” he replied lightly. It made him feel like he had wasted several thousand dollars. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Fate was not on his side that night. Vlad was not able to get more than three steps away from the ungrateful cretin (and towards the refreshments) before the head of the Arts Council cut him off. “Mayor Masters!” she cooed. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Really my dear, you have outdone yourself,” he lied, dancing around her question. The only thing that could possibly make the event more enjoyable would be a sudden haunting. Unfortunately, he had paid for a quiet evening and Skulker took his paycheck seriously. “I’m so glad that you were able to save this space. Truly, it is one of the last vestiges of free expression in our little town.”
“You have been too kind. The donation, the refreshments, the studio space… None of this would have been possible without your kind intervention. I wish that you had let us name a wing after you,” she pouted playfully. Vlad was immensely glad this his name would not be associated in any way with the gallery. One of the few times his false modesty had unexpectedly paid off.
“My dear, this was your doing entirely,” Vlad assured her. With a little more glad-handing, Vlad managed to break away and wandered once more around the gallery. Nearly two hours of his time was more than generous as appearances went. He was the mayor, after all. Their kind, benevolent leader who split his time between charity and long hours at the office. Vlad would make one more round of the room, offer some more vague appeasements to the talentless wretches parading around as tortured artists, and then he would be free to head back to his lab. The samples should be ready by the time he returned. A few hours pouring over the results from last week’s tests in comparison with the newest batch would hopefully ease the tension headache he felt climbing up the back of his neck. The herculean effort he had to put into the life of Vlad Masters so that Vlad Plasmius could pursue his goals was so unfair at times. All he wanted was the freedom and power to get what he deserved. He honestly didn’t know why that had to be so difficult.
Vlad’s gaze was pulled once more to the idiotic sculpture that dominated the room. It really was hideous. A sad little concrete bridge painted in varying shades of brown, with a mirror underneath. Vlad stepped up to the sculpture, pretending to give it the reverence that it supposedly deserved as the centerpiece of the collection. Idiotic. He could have been home an hour ago. Another night of research wasted. Vlad sighed, staring into the reflection on the floor. A movement from across the mirror caught his eye as another ‘patron’ stepped up to the sculpture directly across from Vlad.
It was a man, younger than Vlad though perhaps not by much. Vlad watched as the man smirked at the statue and made some comment to the woman next to him. Apparently, the man’s opinion was less than polite, as the woman let out an indignant grunt and stormed off. The man chuckled and ignored her as he continued to stare at the statue. Vlad continued to stare at the man. He wore his grey suit tailored in at the waist which combined with his delightfully broad shoulders to give the man a shoulder to waist ratio of a Hollywood heart throb. Dark blue shirt, black tie, black shoes. No watch, no ring, slight bump in his coat indicating a cell phone, Vlad noted absently. Amity Park was a small town but not so small that the mayor knew everyone by name. Still, Vlad thought he would have remembered this man. He had a familiar air about him, something in the casual way he stood, ignoring everything around him as he stared at-
Vlad. He was staring at Vlad while Vlad ogled him in the mirror. Glancing up, Vlad locked gazes with a pair of pale blue eyes. They lingered for a moment, then looked him up and down. There was nothing overly salacious in the action. Twenty years spent delving deep into the Ghost Zone had taught Vlad what it felt like to be sized up by another predator. Slowly, the man grinned. Normally, Vlad would have brushed off the interaction. The human had no way of knowing what he was dealing with, after all. But Vlad was intrigued and since there was nothing else worth holding his attention, he casually made his way around the monstrous sculpture.
“Admiring the art?” the man drawled as Vlad approached. He had a deep, dark voice that despite its softness commanded all of Vlad’s attention.
“Hmm,” he hummed noncommittally, looking down at his watch. Just because he had been caught staring didn’t mean he had to admit he had been staring. “I would have been, but there was a face in the reflection blocking my view.”
“I am the view,” the man chuckled as he took a sip from his champagne flute. Vlad continued to fuss with his watch. The man had confidence and the physique to match his claim.
“Come on,” he cajoled, mistaking Vlad’s silence for lack of interest, “I’m much more interesting than pondering how the sepia tones of RetroRainbowSadTimes make you feel.”
“I see you spoke to the artist as well.”
“I spoke to its creator, yes,” the man corrected. That was a point in his favor. “When I asked him how he had reinforced the concrete he told me that it was held together with by the hopes of the oppressed. I think that means he used chicken wire, but I’m still not entirely certain.”
“I was told that my position in office precluded me from true understanding,” Vlad said dryly.
The man paused mid sip, pulling the glass of champagne away from his mouth. “Position in office?” he queried, brows furrowing. “Don’t tell me you’re a politician. You’re not the right kind of sleazy, square-jawed handsome. And you certainly don’t look like you’d be caught sleeping with someone’s wife.”
“I happen to be the mayor of this fine city,” Vlad informed him neutrally, ignoring the jab. That was why Vlad didn’t recognize him; the man was not a native son of the ghost blighted town he had stolen.
“So this is all your fault,” the man asserted as he returned his attention to his champagne.
“I beg your pardon?” Vlad sputtered. Impudence was intolerable no matter how attractive the packaging was.
The man had the gall to laugh in his face. “You heard me,” he chuckled. “Or was this morning’s headline a lie? ‘Mayor Masters: Sole Savior of Amity Arts’?”
Vlad cringed. That particular headline hadn’t been his idea. In an extraordinarily stupid bout of honesty and a desire for positive media representation, Vlad had allowed the paper to name the article whatever they chose without reviewing it first. “Ah yes,” he agreed blandly, “That delightful work of fiction.”
“Fiction?” the man countered quickly. “So you support yellow journalism and sensationalism in this delightful backwater? You should be ashamed.”
“How dare you insinuate-” Vlad hissed, but the man’s lopsided grin stopped him. Was he being teased? Mocked? Tricked? Unwittingly pumped for information? Vlad couldn’t tell. It was unusual for Vlad to lose control of a conversation although, he admitted, losing his temper was becoming an increasingly common occurrence. The man obviously knew that and was trying to throw Vlad off kilter. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“Very direct. I like that in a man. Sometimes, anyway,” the man mused as he drained the remainder of his champagne. Without looking away from Vlad, the man reached out and lightly deposited the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “I’m new to town. Just moved in this morning, as a matter of fact. Saw the paper, thought I’d pop in. I’d say I meant no offense, Mayor Master’s, but-well. I rather did. That doesn’t mean that you haven’t been a delightful conversationalist. Best in the room, although with a crowd like this,” he trailed off with a gesture to the room at large. “I hate to cut this short but we can’t all go through life being wealthy and handsome. Some of us still have to work in the morning.”
With another lazy grin, the man turned and walked towards the door without looking back. A certain swagger in his gait told Vlad that the man knew Vlad was watching him. Vlad stared at the door for nearly a minute after the man had left, pondering their interaction. He hadn’t seemed to have wanted anything beyond insulting Vlad and giving him a few backhanded complements. The entire interaction should have been completely off putting and infuriating. Yet for some reason, all Vlad felt was moderately annoyed, oddly flattered, and decidedly off balance. The man had neglected, in what Vlad assumed was a deliberate omission designed to further nettle him, to mention his name.
“Mayor Masters!” the head of the arts council had reappeared, pulling his gaze away from the door (though not, entirely, his attention). “Are you alright? Can you believe the nerve of that man? Coming in here, sassing my artists, belittling their work! To their faces! All the while making snide comments about everything from the art to the building to the parking lot!”
Having been personally acquainted with their mystery guest, Vlad opted to nod sympathetically. “I assure you, I am perfectly fine. How are you, my dear? Not overly taxed, I hope?” he asked saccharinely.
“I’ll be fine,” she promised with an over exaggerated huff. “Unlike that Mr. Geist if I ever see him again, let me tell you!”
“Mr. Geist?”
“That terribly rude man, he signed the guest book as P. T. Geist. I’m having him barred from the premise as a menace to society. Waltzing in, talking down to everyone, thinking that his looks give him a pass to do as he pleases!”
Vlad nodded along absently. He had a name to go with that charming face and abrasive personality. If P. T. Geist thought he had seen the last of Vlad Masters then he was sorely mistaken.
In his limited free time over the next several days, Vlad began searching for information on Mr. Geist. Most of what he found was completely mundane. Geist was a graduate of Maryland State University’s history program. While working nights in a twenty-four-hour diner, Geist apparently penned a horrifyingly dire romance novel about a vampire falling in love with a mermaid. In what Vlad could only surmise to be a joke taken too far, the novel was published. The book sold out, along with all of Geist’s professional credibility. Rather than admit to shameful defeat, Geist bounced back with a series of books focused on local myths, legends, monsters, and to Vlad’s great humor, hauntings. They were not fictional drivel; Geist interviewed witnesses and shed light on the origins of some of the most intriguing cases of the supernatural in the country. At least, that is what the dust cover of his latest work proclaimed.
Despite all the information on his professional career, there was little to nothing on the man himself. He refused to attend book signing events although with a prima opus like Geist’s Vlad could not blame him. Everyone whom he had ever interviewed christened him an intent listener and witty conversationalist. Vlad could find precious little else beyond his tax records, birth certificate, and previous addresses. He even had a perfect driving record.
The most important thing Vlad uncovered was his current address. Geist was indeed new to Amity Park. He resided in Amity Heights, one of the nicer apartment complexes in the city.
Now that he had the information, Vlad was uncertain what he wished to do with it. It was not as though he could simply fly over, bang on the door, and demand an explanation for the man’s off putting yet intriguing behavior. That was the crux of the issue. Vlad was intrigued. Hadn’t Vlad been wishing for something interesting? And Geist just happened to show up, looking like he did and acting as though Vlad should find his impertinence endearing. There were precious few who could capture and hold Vlad’s attention so wholly and Geist had managed it in a single conversation.
It could all be a trap, of course. Geist was literally a ghost writer; he could know something about Vlad’s secret. On a less dramatic note, Vlad was the mayor of the most haunted town in the country. Wanting an interview would just be good business for the man. There were too many variables. Without another conversation Vlad would never know what his newest citizen wanted. That was the whole of it; Vlad needed to know what Geist wanted. It had nothing to do with how delicious the man had looked in his grey suit and even less to do with the clearly appreciative glances he kept sending Vlad’s way. Vlad refused to even contemplate the implications of such actions and his nonexistent reactions to them.