by J. Morgan
In short order the coffee appeared, but without the accustomed Mabel behind the cup. In her place stood a vision in waitress-blue. Breathred was dumbstruck. The waitress was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. His throat closed up just thinking about being this close to her.
She was a bronze goddess of the highest order. Her long black hair was tied back into a ponytail. Her lips were full and formed into an eternal smile that lit up the entire room. But it was her eyes that trapped him. He had never thought of brown as an attractive color for eyes, but on her it was a masterful stroke from the maker's hand. She had a sultry gypsy quality, like Marlene Dietrich in Golden Earrings with Ray Milland.
Through the course of the evening, he learned she was a Native American, not a gypsy as he first thought. She was finishing her graduate work in anthropology. Working at the Java Jumper helped pay for her textbooks and lab fees. In spite of the grant and scholarships, she still had trouble making ends meet. She had been forced to take a job just so she could eat.
Breathred remembered every detail of their first meeting. As he fell into bed that night, it struck him he hadn't even gotten her name. He didn't think the fact strange. He often forgot such things. His mind worked on a different plane at odd times.
It took a week before he finally worked up the courage to go back and ask her name. He made it a point to seat himself outside her section. It would be no small lie to say he was shaking when the time came.
She instantly set him at ease. She even remembered him by sight. That had never happened to him before without a restraining order coming into play. After some shameless flirtation, she relinquished the prize. Her name was Luna Walking Batch.
The name soared through him like a bolt from above. He could imagine no other appellation could possibly have suited her any better. He found it fitted nicely into every Barry Manilow song he knew. This was fortunate for those around him, because he only knew two. They were also much nicer, in his opinion, than the one Stud constantly harangued him with, which involved him “...sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” of all things.
Why he would want to do such a thing, he had no idea. He was simply content to enjoy her company, as he hoped she was in his. She had to feel the same, otherwise why was she always popping up at his place?
His dreamy-eyed countenance cleared. Someone was shouting his name, repeatedly. They sounded most urgent. Since he smelled no fire, he saw no need to rush into anything. He shook his head, dropping most of the cobwebs littering his drowsy mind. It wasn't until a hairy knuckle-slap to the side of the head, he responded.
"Breathy are you all right? You look like you swallowed a Sasquatch!” Luna said.
"I must have dozed off."
"Are you sure the cat hasn't got your tongue, Bad-Ass?” Stud smirked.
"Behave, Stud.” Luna scolded.
"That's all right, I'm used to it by now.” Breathred moaned.
"Well, get dressed. We're going out,” she announced, choosing to ignore his melodramatic response. “You, too, Monkey Boy. We're making a night of it. All three of us."
"You can't be serious!” Breathred exclaimed. The thought of going anywhere with the demented beast was more than he could bear.
"You heard her,” Stud said. “Even though she may have insulted me, I'm willing to forgive her since I get to put on my dancing shoes."
"Of course he's going with us. It's unfair to keep him cooped up in this dreary basement all the time. He needs fresh air and frankly, so do you,” she preached to the unrepentant choir. “Besides, he'll be good. Won't you Stud?” Luna asked turning to the cornered chimp.
"When am I anything but the picture of refinement?” Stud gave her his best hurt face.
"Then it's settled."
Breathred watched as she crossed her arms. He knew her well enough to know that meant she would hear no more on the subject. As much as he would have liked to, he knew better than to fight her.
He sighed and gave in to the inevitable. He never questioned the strange relationship that existed between the girl and Stud. He just knew the chimp was the one subject not to cross her on. The fact his stalwart simian milked it for all it was worth was disheartening in itself, but Breathred had learned it was a battle he couldn't win.
Since he had missed the bulk of their conversation, Breathred had no clue even where he'd agreed to go. With Luna it could be anywhere from Burger Town to gay Paree. He rifled through his closet for something to work for any occasion. He finally decided on his all-purpose outfit he wore to everything. You couldn't go wrong with a white shirt and black pants.
Once dressed, he was ready for the worst. When dealing with Luna and her schemes, it was best to start at the worst. At least that way you could always work your way up, but you never went down any further than the worst possible scenario. He tried not to imagine apocalypse as an optional ending for tonight, but with Luna you couldn't count it out.
* * * *
Lewis was tired of being wet and cold. He was used to the slow, sultry heat and sunshine of New Orleans. Seattle was none of those things. He had long ago stopped believing the myths about vampires. Being immune to the weather was just one of many. Vampires felt the heat and cold—perhaps not to the extent of a living human—but they were still affected by it.
Ever since he and Leopold set foot in Seattle, he felt like he was in a soggy, damp grave. Not a sensation he wished to revisit, thank you very much. Once was enough. He could hardly wait until this whole crazy scheme was over with, so they could get the hell outta Dodge.
With the way Leopold was acting, it could take forever. Who knew a three-hundred-year old vampire could have a mid-death crisis? White folks, go figure.
Lewis should be with his master. There was no telling what Leopold was up to by now. After the fifth stanza of I Gotta Be Free, he just had to get the hell away. It was just so depressing. Finally, he slinked out while the old fool went looking for his copy of Hello Dolly.
So for the better part of the night, he just prowled the streets, looking for anything to take his mind off of his troubles. Thanks to the two hookers a couple of blocks over, he was full as a tick. What he needed now was a little distraction to take the edge off going home.
Ahead the vampire spotted a nightclub that looked to be the ticket for his woes. The main thing it had going for it was the place wasn't a vampire dive. Before his turning, he never realized how boring a club could be. Leopold had taken him to his first vamp club, and boy did he learn different. The old ghouls sat around all night in one big bitch-fest. It wasn't even a good one where everybody slammed each other. They always said the same thing. No matter where it was or who was there, they all said the exact same fucking thing. Five or six hours of hearing “in my day” over and over again was more than any man could take, whether he was a vampire or not.
Unlike those old fops, he knew the truth. In my day you couldn't tell the living from the dead, because they both smelled the same. Well, screw that! He liked his victims a little more on the clean side. Don't even get him started on dental hygiene. Just thinking about it was enough to make him want to gag, and he drank blood to survive.
But, Lewis wasn't here to dwell on the boring side of un-life. He was here to party. The place was jumping. It was no mean feat for a Tuesday night. He bet you couldn't even get in here on a Friday or Saturday night, not that he'd have any trouble in that department.
A floating waitress swam past him. From her tray, he snagged a drink he would not drink. With well-trained ease Lewis shifted into the crowd before she noticed the drink missing from her tray. The surging mass of people closed up behind him, erasing any sign of his passage.
The vampire let his eyes wash over the room in hopes of finding a midnight snack. Most of them were too drunk or stoned. One bite and he'd stagger all the way home. From experience, Lewis had found it best to take only sober victims. A hangover on a dead brain was a bitch. Alcohol killed brain cells, even undead ones.
He'd h
ave to pick something up on the way home. If luck was with him, he'd run across an early-rising jogger. The health conscious offered such sweet tasting Chablis.
Lewis angled toward the DJ. The rapid-fire beat blaring from the loudspeaker drew him onward. Unlike his confused master, he understood the value of a well shaped female form and stopped to appreciate several on the way to the dance floor surrounding the DJ booth. As he stepped on the rotating disk, an intoxicating scent flooded into him. The smell of blood so pure and untainted Lewis scarcely believe it existed, hit him right between the eyes. The odor was so sweet the impact threatened to send him sprawling to the floor.
Not giving a flip about being seen, Lewis jumped from the dance floor with a superhuman bound. His nostrils flaring as they fought to trace the scent to its source, he hit the dance floor running. The place was just too crowded. Without a better plan, Lewis decided to mingle and hope he ran across its owner before they left. He set up a nonchalant search pattern taking him through the entire club without missing a single part of it. After thirty minutes, Lewis feared he had imagined the entire episode.
The vampire stopped suddenly in the midst of a growing mosh pit. His head pivoted to the left. There it was again. It was close, no more than ten or twelve feet away. He narrowed it down to an open booth in the corner. Through the haze of smoke he saw the source. A man and a woman sat in hushed conversation. Young lovers, how sweet. A third shape jumped between the two. At first Lewis thought it was a small child, but no. It was a monkey dressed in a gold lamé leisure suit.
Lewis had to laugh. These mortals and their idiosyncrasies were a constant amazement.
It didn't matter how weird the couple was. He had to get a taste of that blood. The question was which of the trio owned the delightful blood? Lewis let his power flow out to them and wash over each of them in turn. Common sense ruled out the monkey. He didn't drink out of his species, if he could help it.
His senses hit the woman first. A blackness surged from her that was almost frightening. No, she wasn't the source. Discounting her left the man. A second ping revealed it to be true. How bizarre.
Edging closer to the couple, he hadn't taken more than a few steps when the girl turned to look him straight in the eye. Even across the crowded room, her gaze bored into him. A river of fear ran down his back. What was this girl?
"I know what you are,” a voice whispered in his mind, and he knew it belonged to her.
Lewis stumbled back onto the crowded dance floor. One thought held his panic in check: get the hell out of here. He had to get away from her. Against his own volition, the vamp spun around upsetting a trio of dancers. They screamed in protest. He didn't care.
Streaking from the dance floor, he cautiously hazarded a glance back to the trio. She still sat at the table, but her eyes never left him. She tipped her head toward him. A scream strangled itself in his throat, and he fled through the door and out into the night.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Five
The hours between daybreak and nightfall may seem safe, but don't be fooled. Not all bloodsuckers have fangs.
Take lawyers for just one example.
Breathred was not in the mood to wake up. He wasn't even in the mood to be alive at this moment. Luna had kept him out until right before dawn. He wasn't sure, but thought someone must have slipped something into his milk at the last bar they stumbled into. He had a funny taste in his mouth and, for some reason, a pair of strange underwear hung around his neck.
Rolling over, while doing his best not to think about whose underwear they might be, a shaft of filtered of sunlight struck him between the eyes. The sudden burst of radiance sent him scrambling back the way he'd come. Definitely in no shape to face the day, Breathred jerked his pillow over his head, doing a passable impression of a turtle. Waiting patiently for death to claim him, he lay in bed for another fifteen minutes staring out with one shadowed eye.
His mind dredged through the facts about last night. Halfway into their night on the town Luna began acting strange. Not exactly sure what happened but something set her off at the first club they'd gone to. At one point the girl looked visibly shaken, making them leave in a hurry.
She spent all night looking over her shoulder. Luna didn't think he noticed, but it was hard not to. He suggested they make an early night of it. Not that he was tired. He'd been just a little on the sore side. The cat-inflicted wounds had been giving him fits. He wouldn't have admitted such a thing to her though.
For some reason he got the feeling she didn't want to let him out of her sight. Stud even commented as much when she left them to use the facilities. Of course the diminutive demon termed it differently. Breathred couldn't see how he could get any luckier than he already was, and what did cards have to do with anything? They weren't even playing cards. The chimp could be strange at times.
The telephone rang, driving a spike into his already aching head. Breathred glanced over at the clock. Who would be calling at 11:57 in the morning? Oh crap! He had overslept.
Breathred jumped out of bed to find his legs were in no shape for such an endeavor. He tripped over his clothes in his hurry to stop the pounding. Breathred barely missed colliding with the couch. An impromptu spin saved him from anything worse than bruised pride.
The phone kept up its incessant ringing. He plunged through the remainder of the makeshift living room to where the phone normally rested. In its place Stud lay sleeping in nothing but his “The King Lives” boxers. Breathred skidded to a stop in front of him. The underwear was in an unseemly position. He shook his head in disgust. The little pervert was having the Estelle Getty dream again.
Picking up a stick he kept around for these occasions, Breathred jabbed the stick into his side, flipping the creature off of the phone. Stud landed with a wet thump and emitted a noxious explosion that sent Breathred gasping for breath, but made no sign of waking. Just as well. Breathred couldn't stand the idea of dealing with him just yet. The underwear would have to come off before he even thought about waking the chimp.
He eyed the phone suspiciously. Grabbing his ever-ready bottle of Lysol from the bookshelf beside the phone, Breathred gave it a healthy dose and gave Stud a shot for good measure. Satisfied the phone was now safe to touch, he picked up the receiver.
"Hello,” he grumbled.
"Is this Mr. Breathred Petrifunck?” a husky female voice asked.
"You're not a telemarketer are you?” he asked back, ready to slam the phone down.
"No, my name is Professor D. L. Grayson. I'm calling in response to your ad."
"Well, in that case you have reached the offices of Petrifunck Paranormal. How may I be of service?"
"Now that I have you on the line, I'm really not sure,” Dr. Grayson admitted.
Breathred answered in his best businesslike tone, “Please be assured I will hold this conversation in the strictest of confidence. Feel free to discuss your situation."
"This is not something I wish to discuss over the phone. Is there any way we can meet later today?"
"My calendar is free any time this afternoon, I can meet you then, if it's convenient,” Breathred said, giving himself a gold star for his professionalism.
"I have a free hour after five before my evening class starts at six. Can we possibly meet then?"
"Of course. I and my associate would be more than happy to meet you then."
"Good. I'll be in the Science building at the college. Do you know where it's located?"
"Yes, I am familiar with the campus.” Breathred said, not wanting her to know he had no idea where it was, but Luna did.
"You will find me in room 507. I guess I'll see you then, Mr. Petrifunck. If possible, I'd like for you to keep this between you and me for the moment,” Professor Grayson repeated.
"You have my word this will go no further than my ears,” Breathred reassured her.
"Till then, Mr. Petrifunck,” she said, and hung up.
Breathred fell back into his
chair. This was all just too much. Two clients in two days! That had to be some kind of record. True he had only made a buck and some change on the first one, but this one would be different. She was a professor. Professors never cheated anybody, like mean old ladies did.
This would be a good day. Wait a minute. Today was Wednesday. What did Wednesday mean? Comic book day! A client and comic book day, what more could a man ask for?
For those of you who have no concept what all the hoopla is all about, it's quite simple. Every comic book company ships their comics to a main distributor. Then the distributor sends the comic books to select dealers on Wednesday. To any most right-thinking people, this has no bearing whatsoever on their lives. Not so the comic book fan. In expectation of said event every Tuesday, a massive gathering is planned by the comic-buying community to go to their own private Mecca.
This event doesn't happen once a year or even once every month. No, every week. That's fifty-two times a year and happens as regular as clockwork, barring national holidays. To a geek like Breathred, it was like having Christmas fifty-two times a year. No other day invigorated him like Wednesdays. Birthdays didn't even come close.
But today was even more special. The latest issue of Tales of the Undead hit the shelves today. Of the multitude of titles populating the comic shelf, not to mention his floor, closet and bed, this was the only one that mattered. Aside from the Boffrend handbook, all 178 issues of the hallowed magazine taught Breathred everything he knew about vampire slaying.
He checked his alarm clock. Its red numbers proclaimed 12:32 pm. His late start didn't give him much time to get everything done by six. Planned just right, he might be able to squeeze it all in. The big thing was to get hold of Luna. She had morning classes and one overlapping the dinner rush at the Jumper.
To have any hope of catching her meant getting Stud up and running. He tossed the remote toward the sleeping monkey. It cracked the animal in the gut and sent him flying into the air. The chimp came down in his typical ninja stance. A disturbing thing to witness, especially since it was evident the Estelle Getty dream had yet to run its course.