Straight Outta Fangton

by C. T. Phipps

  “Your point?” Melissa said, her voice cold and unfeeling. Clearly, she was thinking the same thing now.

  “If you were able to go against him like that,” I said, backtracking, “you had to have some sort of motivation other than just a bunch of generic people being endangered. You needed something personal to motivate you. I mean, vampires killed your family.”

  “Not all of them,” Melissa said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “My brother Jim is alive, sort of,” Melissa said.

  I paused. “You have a brother named Jim Morris? Did your parents hate him?”

  Melissa took a deep breath. “They did eventually when he came out.”

  “You're really not convincing me you're the good guy in all this,” David said, looking back at her.

  “How did your parents react when you said you liked to screw guys?” I asked.

  “They'd known since I was thirteen,” David asked, glancing over at me. “They were more annoyed when I cheated on my boyfriend with the girl next door. They'd been so proud of having a gay son that bi just seemed like a step back.”

  I actually laughed at that, which I shouldn't have. “So Minister Morris kicked out your brother before vampires killed him for being part of the HRL. Did you ever find your brother again?”

  “He was disowned when I was thirteen,” Melissa said. “I didn't think to look him up until much later. It was Renaud, in fact, who inspired me to do it. That's when I found out he was a vampire too.”

  Melissa let out a gallows laugh.

  “What's so funny?”

  “He's a cancer doctor,” Melissa said, looking close to tears. “He uses blood so he can help them survive more chemotherapy and to hypnotize them into not feeling pain. He and his partner are among the nicest people I've ever met. They're thinking about adopting some special needs children.”

  “Prejudice is a bitch,” I said. “So that's when you started thinking this whole vampire hunting thing was a lost cause.”

  “I'd started thinking it a long time ago. I was willing to go along with it until then, though. I'm just sorry it took me until this point to change my mind.”

  Nobody said anything after that, right up until we passed a Burgertown. Seeing the White Castle-looking building with its cheerful hamburger sign, I immediately hit the brakes and would have gotten us into an accident if there had been anyone behind us. It was rare I had eureka moments in real life, but this was one of them.

  “What the hell, Pete?” David asked. “Are you high? Does werewolf blood work like meth?”

  “More like pot,” I said, shrugging. “Slight sense of euphoria. It's the only drug I used while alive, anyway, and purely for coping with my wartime experiences.”

  “Uh-huh,” David said.

  I smiled. “Burgertown is the safest place for anyone to hide out from a vampire.”

  “What?” Melissa and David said simultaneously.

  I did a U-turn and pulled the car into the fast food joint's parking lot. “Everyone knows about the sunlight, stake through the heart, fire, and decapitation stuff. Three out of four of those will kill a human, so it's fine. However, when you're really young, you have a lot of incredibly annoying minor weaknesses no one tells you about. Most of these you'll grow out of while some get worse, but they're irritating as fuck.”

  I hadn't told Melissa about all of our weaknesses. I'd told her about the big ones, mind you, but not the smaller ones. The ones that afflicted vampires until they were old enough to ignore them but still came up in day-to-day life. The kind of things that were more effective than laying huge crosses on your door or buying a flamethrower.

  Melissa looked genuinely interested. “Like what?”

  “Counting sesame seeds.”

  Melissa and David exchanged a look.

  “You're kidding,” Melissa said.

  “I wish I was,” I said, grumbling. “One time I was visiting an old friend here and I ended up spending an hour picking every single seed out of his burger.”

  “So all vampires are OCD?” Melissa blinked.

  “Only about sesame seeds,” I answered.

  Melissa scrunched her brow. “How does that even make sense as a weakness?”

  “I don't know!” I said, parking the car. “Best of all, I don't have to. I only have to know Eaton is here.”

  “Why this Burgertown?” David asked. “Hell, why Burgertown in general?”

  “They produce the Super-Sesame Seed Bun Combo,” I said, shaking my head. “It's on pictures, it's on display, and there are usually full display cases of freshly made buns in order to show they're fresh. It's like an irresistible command to go over them all. As for why this Burgertown, I heard an Old One actually works here. A guy who doesn't mind the atmosphere and runs a side business smuggling supernaturals out of the city. I never came back here after the first time, so I don't know him, but it's the best lead we have.”

  “It's a pretty poor lead,” Melissa said. “Are you sure we'll be able to go in?”

  I nodded. “As long as I keep my eyes off the things, I should be fine. There's also a pair of cheap-ass sunglasses in the glove compartment. I checked when looking at the registration. That should help. You might want to stay in the car.”

  “Fat chance of that,” Melissa said.

  “Well, if you're immune to crosses and saying the Lord's name, maybe you're immune to this too,” I said, hoping that wasn't the case. Melissa had already hit the lottery of vampirism and I was hoping she didn't get anything else before she'd earned it.

  Me, petty? No!

  The three of us started to get out. There was a feeling of excitement in the air as well as newfound purpose.

  David then ruined the mood. “Wait, does this mean the Count of Sesame Street is accurate vampire lore?”

  I paused by the car door. “I never thought about it like that.”

  “Mind blown,” David said, holding out his hands in front of him.

  “Any other weaknesses I should know about?” Melissa asked, looking away from Burgertown as if she'd caught a glimpse of something she shouldn't have.

  “Well, you know about the verbena thing, but it's just about everything that can really fuck up your day. I still live in Detroit in part because whenever I go outside the city, I can't sleep unless I have a jar full of dirt. I hate going outside during rainstorms because of all the storm drains, and crossing rivers is a phobia I'm working on. The missing reflection thing is something you gain as you grow older. Oh, and you don't have to invite me in, but if I'm not invited then I can't use my powers inside the building.”

  “Wow, that sucks,” David said. “No wonder so many vampires commit suicide.”

  “Yes, it's that versus all-consuming guilt over the violence of the lifestyle,” Melissa snapped back.

  “No, David's right,” I corrected him, thinking about the girl I’d killed. “You have to force yourself to remember the guilt.”

  “What about garlic?” Melissa asked.

  I paused. “Weird. You know that's actually the one thing that doesn't seem to affect us. I was kind of disappointed, to be honest, as I've never been a big Italian sort of guy.”

  “Huh,” Melissa said, processing all this. “Wait, does the running water thing mean vampires can't take showers?”

  “I'm strictly a bath man,” I said, getting the sunglasses in the glove compartment and putting them on. “Now let's go get us a lawman.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Even though I was wearing a pair of sunglasses, the sight of the Burgertown's interior caused every hair on the back on my neck to stand up. I had to focus entirely forward on the checkout counter to avoid having my attention drawn to the pictures of sesame seed buns on the wall as well as the display case of actual buns. Buns full of sesame seeds. Beautiful, enchanting, tiny, perfect sesame seeds.

  1 …

  2 …

  3 …

  No, I am not doing this! I am not a number; I am a free man! This is
a stupid weakness, even worse than garlic, and I don't know why the hell vampires have it! Goddammit, at least fire and decapitation are badass!

  “How you holding up?” I asked, having stepped one foot into the room.

  “Hmm?” Melissa said. “No problems whatsoever.”

  “Really?” I said, having unconsciously placed my hand on her shoulder for support.

  “Nope.” Melissa looked around. “I'm wondering about what it'll be like to never eat meat again. But I hated Burgertown, so there's no problem.”

  “What?” I asked, distracted from the compulsion. “Everyone loves Burgertown. They're the best hamburger chain in the Rust Belt.”

  “Not me,” Melissa said. “I only ordered fries whenever my father insisted we eat here.”

  “Heathen,” I said, so shocked by her blasphemy against the one food I would miss from my mortal days. “David?”

  “Yeah?” David asked, looking uncomfortable.

  “I need you to wait outside,” I said, looking for some sign of the Old One who supposedly ran this place. Right now, there was only a human guy in a paper hat eating french fries at the counter. The rest of the restaurant was empty and I was glad of that. If Eaton was here, I fully expected things to get bloody—and in a non-vamp- appealing way.

  “Why?” David asked, confused.

  “Because I need you to watch to make sure no one goes out the back door,” I said, actually wanting him out of the way because I was afraid he'd get murdered in any conflict involving me and the undead.

  “All right,” David said, frowning. “But only because you asked me to.”

  I handed him the car keys, just in case he had to give chase.

  “Eaton is here,” Melissa said, interrupting our little get-together.

  “What?” I looked around and accidentally caught a glimpse of way too many sesame seeds. I didn't need to count them, but they gave me a monstrous migraine.

  “In the back,” Melissa said, pointing to the kitchen doors. “I can hear his voice. He's talking to a guy who sounds like the movie Dracula.”

  “Lugosi, Lee, Langella, Oldman, or Butler?”

  “Gerard Butler played Dracula?” Melissa asked.

  “Yeah, Dracula 2000. I didn't recognize him the first time I saw it,” I said, remembering how awful that movie was.

  “No, I mean he sounds like the thick-European-accented Lugosi kind.”

  “Mel, no real vampire actually sounds like—”

  That was when I was proven wrong. “Welcome to Burgertown! May your time here be as fruitful as a productive peasant's harvest. Ha ha ha ha.”

  I lowered my sunglasses to the bridge of my nose, then turned to see where the heavily-accented Slavic voice was coming from.

  Standing outside the kitchen doors was a five-foot-six man with a widow's peak and graying black hair who actually resembled Bela Lugosi to a certain extent. The old, sad, underpaid, overworked Bela Lugosi who worked for Ed Wood until his dying day.

  He wasn't wearing a cape and a tuxedo—that would have been a bridge too far—but he was wearing a black sports jacket and a button-down shirt with black jeans. Like he couldn't afford even a cheap business suit but wanted to look like a half approximation. It was doubly weird because his hands were covered in gold and jeweled rings that were probably worth more than my house.

  The worst part? This guy was the real deal. I could feel it from across the room that not only was he a vampire, but he was a powerful one too. A genuine Old One who could probably put three to four hundred years to his name at the least. His dry papery skin and elongated fingernails also marked him as one of the older, “purer” strains of vampirism from Eastern Europe or Egypt, which had an advantage over the more human-looking modern ones.

  And he was working at a fast food joint.

  Burgertown.

  I stared at the sight. “Are you shitting me?”

  “I shit you not,” the Old One said. “Burgertown is always open to cater to those with discriminating tastes in hamburger buns.”

  “But not meat,” Melissa whispered.

  “What was that?” the Old One asked.

  “Nothing,” Melissa said. “Nice to meet you, Mister—”

  “Graff Yorga of the House Basarab,” the Old One said cheerfully. “Can I take your order?”

  “Graff?” Melissa asked, walking up to the counter.

  David proceeded to leave, looking embarrassed.

  I followed Melissa, torn between my desire to go after Eaton and my confusion over what the hell a vampire this old was doing working here for minimum wage. It had to be a scam, right? Old Ones, at least, always had money.

  Yorga was too busy answering Melissa's question to pay me much heed, though. “Well, it's kind of like Prince. I didn't have the title while I was alive, but since I outlived all my brothers and their descendants, I don't think they'll mind. As for the rest, my lineage is very famous, which isn't always a good thing when you're a vampire. Back in the Old Country, living in castles and having titles is just how things are done. Here, in America, it's like you're some kind of joke. Very distressing.”

  “Because of Drac—”

  “Don't mention his name,” Yorga hissed. “Mister 'I'm so famous, I'm too cool for my family.' That's what you say now, cool, yes?”

  “Yeah,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the guy.

  “I had some movies named after me,” Yorga said, frowning. “But do people remember them? No!”

  “I remember them,” the guy eating fries beside him said.

  “Shut up, mortal,” Yorga said. “And I really need you to order something.”

  “I'll have the large Coca-Cola,” I said. “I can't swallow it, but I like to swish it around in my mouth.”

  Yorga smiled. “Thank you. Please feel free to keep talking. I so rarely get to discuss things like this.”

  Wow, this was surreal. Was this how I looked to the outside world? “How did you end up working here?”

  This was blowing a lot of my presuppositions about the way things were supposed to work out of the water. It was one thing for the majority of vampires to be poor. It was dead wrong and shouldn't be the case, but I'd been prepared for it by the trashy vampires of Near Dark, John Carpenter's Vampires, plus 30 Days of Night. But Old Ones? Old Ones were supposed to be above this shit. Also, man, he really needed to modernize his dress sense. This was America. Okay, now I was being racist and classist. I needed to tone down that shit and listen.

  Yorga gave an embarrassed shrug. “One day you're ruling eleven villages who send their sons and daughters to stay with you for a year on their eighteenth birthday, the next the communists have tanks rolling up on your palace to shell it to the ground.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, speechless.

  Yorga clenched a fist. “Fuck communism. I wish I'd made Reagan into a vampire. He’s a true hero for defeating the Red Menace.”

  I mentally contacted David. Please tell me I'm not this bad.

  This guy? David asked, hopefully still watching the backdoor. Not this bad. Close, but not this bad.

  “I think Reagan was an awful president,” the guy eating fries said, looking even more bored than David was at his job.

  Yorga turned to him and waved his bony fingers. “Maggots, you're eating maggots.”

  “Doesn't work on me,” the guy eating fries said, getting up and walking to the kitchen.

  “Ugh,” Count Yorga said. “This is what happens when an Old One doesn't have the proper lifestyle. You can't even pull off simple party tricks.”

  “I'm sorry,” I said, half sincere.

  Yorga continued rambling. “You know Kiefer Sutherland is a vampire now? My cousin Vassily offered to make him one after the Bailout.”

  “Are you sure that's true?” I asked, trying to see inside the kitchen as the doors flipped open. “Because Hollywood loves cultivating rumors about that shit. California's laws are so draconian about privacy that anyone or everyone could be a supernatural.”r />
  Yorga started entering the code for my Coca-Cola. “Well, I know what Vasilly tells me, and he works at one of the studios. Tom Cruise is definitely a vampire.”

  I snorted. “Oh, like that surprises anyone.”

  “How about Brad and Angie?” Melissa piped in, not helping matters. We didn't need to be dealing with this fruit loop.

  “I heard he was up for the offer, but she turned it down,” Yorga said, holding his hand out for the cash. “Werepanther.”

  I passed him my debit card inside. I wasn't going to trust him with any more of my rapidly diminishing cash.

  “No!” Melissa gasped. “She didn't want to be an immortal werepanther?”

  Yorga snorted. “No, you can't combine things. Screw that Underworld bullshit.”

  “You know the next seasons of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette are going to be vamp themed,” Melissa said.

  “Really?” Yorga said. “That seems like a bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  “I mean, unless it's all vampires, some of the cast are going to get eaten,” Yorga said. “Or changed or made into slaves. That's just how these things go.”

  “Better for ratings, I guess,” I said, tiring of this conversation.

  David contacted me. Still no sign of Eaton, Boss. If he's in there, he's waiting you out.

  Dammit, I thought back.

  I'd actually been hoping Eaton would make a break for it. This was going to make things awkward. Even if Yorga was more Count Chocula than Vlad the Impaler, he was still an Old One and could tear me a new one if I pissed him off. Also, I wasn't entirely sold on this all being his real personality. All Old Ones were crafty sonsabitches, and not all of them were prideful.