Mercy Bound

By Karen Plaisance

For Mercy Cross, being a fated death oracle has its perks. Knowing when and how someone will bite the dust and being able to prevent it is always a rush. Not being able to save herself from her own grisly end is a bit of a downer, but hey, look for that silver lining where you can, right?

Mercy's glass-is-half-full view of life is challenged when her attempts to save a mysterious red headed hunter backfires and she becomes temporarily blood bound to a New Orleans vampire. Embroiled in a political power struggle among the city's vampire contingent and hunted down by the very woman she saved, Mercy is left to wonder if surviving this nightmare is worth the agony of living through it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Plaisance
• Release date: Apr 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301775910

Karen Plaisance

Karen Plaisance is not my real name. It is the pseudonym I use to keep my friends and family from finding out what outrageous drivel I write. I am a full time licensed massage therapist and a part time writer of pointless twaddle you will never read. When not writing twaddle or rubbing aching backs, I am busy being Agnostic, fence sitters of the religious world. For those of you who have already purchased my book, I am so terribly, terribly sorry.

Book preview

Chapter One

The dead guy leaned back in his squeaky office chair, eyeing me like a chocoholic would a bonbon in a candy factory. Fidgeting under his licentious gaze, I could tell what he was thinking; Lunch, yum! That or he wanted to have sex with me. It’s hard to distinguish between a vampire’s sex drive and their need to feed; I had been told the two are so intertwined. Hoping to cover all my bases, I pulled up the collar of my ugly, green thrift store coat in an attempt at hiding both my neck and what little cleavage I have from view. Not exactly subtle, but hey, neither was he.

His name was Horatio, owner of the Amaranthus—a New Orleans night club on Bourbon Street—and the oldest creature I had ever met. I couldn’t tell for sure without touching him, something I had been avoiding since the moment he ushered me into his office. Not that he was repulsive or anything. For a guy without a pulse, Horatio was a stud muffin. Those smoldering dark eyes and that come hither smile had probably made stronger women than me melt. In spite of his pretty face, I kept my hormones in check. This guy was a killer, cold and calculating, and probably a little peckish.

He didn’t scare me though. This man, vampire, whatever—he wouldn't be the one to kill me. I knew from seeing his smile I was safe from death. At least, for tonight.

My name is Mercy Cross. I’m a death oracle. When I touch someone, I can tell the most probable way that person will meet their end. I'm also fated; an unfortunate byproduct of what would otherwise be a nifty talent. I know exactly when and how I’ll die. I don’t have to look both ways before crossing the street, and you can be sure if I set foot on a plane destined to crash, it’ll have at least one survivor. I can’t prevent my fated death from happening under any circumstances, though, and I'm going to die in spectacular pain. But hey, look for that silver lining where you can, am I right?

Horatio wouldn’t be the one to kill me, but he made me feel uneasy. His office was too…normal. It sounds weird, I know, but it had a trying too hard feel to it. The sparkling tinsel and shiny bows tethered along the walls. The humorous reindeer calendar on the wall behind him. Even the delightful bobblehead Santa jiggling on his desk put me on edge. I’m a harmless human who likes harmless human things, it said. I'm totally not going to drain you dry or make you one of the living dead. Not that he could do that to me, but still.

There was something familiar about him too, and it bothered me for some reason. I put it down to being antsy because we were alone in his office. I don’t mix with vamps as a rule, and here I was, alone with one, and no witnesses to keep the guy in line.

Most mortals think vampires are the stuff of legends. You know, like Dracula or the Count from Sesame Street. The blood suckers do what they can to perpetuate this belief. No open feeding. No vamping out in public. No Bela Lugosi impressions. Nothing that would catch the attention of monster hunters, those who hunt vampires and witches and weres and demons. And when they’re bored and run out of all the above, humans that are just plain different. I hear they’re a dying breed, though. Guess it’s hard explaining to the authorities why you’ve just stuck a sharpened piece of wood through John Anyvampire’s chest or burned him alive when they don’t believe in supernatural threats to society. The police can be unreasonable like that.

Horatio wouldn’t try anything with a bunch of unsuspecting mortals around to tell tales, but it was just him and me and a closed office door. Maybe it was all in my head, but I still would have preferred this interview take place somewhere less private.

Stare at my tits a little harder, and I’ll ask for a chaperone, I said irritably.

I haven’t yet hired you, Miss Cross, and you are already accusing me of sexual harassment. Horatio’s English was impeccable, with that perfect clipped pronunciation of someone who hadn’t grown up in the States, but I couldn't place it. Wherever he hailed from, his voice was smooth. I could have fallen in love with him if I hadn’t known he was using the vampire version of a roofie on me. You have nothing to fear from me.

The python’s song in the cartoon version of the Jungle Book came to mind. The image of Horatio serenading me to Trust in Me while flicking a forked tongue had me snorting with laughter. He eyed me with one brow cocked.

Let’s get a few things straight, I said once I gained control of my funny bone. First off, you don’t have to be formal with me. No one's called me Miss Cross since high school. Call me Mercy.

Fair enough, Mercy, Horatio said, his tone all amusement. Still, he frowned when he realized his Jedi mind trick wasn’t working.

Second, the sexual harassment thing doesn’t worry me. Not as much as some of the other things I’ve heard your kind can do.

That caught his attention. He tried to play it off.

My kind? I’m not sure I know what you mean, Miss— he said, but caught himself. Mercy.

I know what you are and what you want from me. It's not going to happen. Not outside bussing tables and serving drinks.

What is it that you think I want from you? Besides bussing tables and serving drinks? Horatio said, giving me a sly smile. He did everything but wink at me.

Haven’t fed lately, have you? I said and rolled my eyes at his expression of oh-so-polite befuddlement. I hate when men play coy with me. What? You thought you’d have me for a quick nosh? That is so lame! The least you can do is pay for dinner and a movie before you sink your fangs into a girl.

He opened his mouth to protest. I raised my hands and shook my head, in a not buying it gesture.

Let’s not insult my intelligence and yours by playing pointless games. You’re a vampire. A blood sucking creature of the night. Don’t worry. I’m not wearing a wire or anything.

I smiled. Horatio cocked an eyebrow, his blameless expression replaced with one of stony curiosity.

What are you?

Mortal, I said.

And?

In desperate need of a job.

He didn’t look satisfied with my answer. Damn. Maybe I should have played dumb, pretend I was falling under his spell or whatever. But where would that lead? This guy seemed the type to take things as far as they would go. If he wanted a taste, he’d take it, and I just couldn’t have that. The consequences would be too messy.

I should never have applied at the Amaranthus. I knew walking in dead people ran the place, sensed them even before I entered the building. Just crossing the street, I could feel that irritating sensation I get where the dead or not so dead congregate. The feeling bore down on me, and it screamed Vampire Owned. Hell, the name had been a dead giveaway, pardon the pun; Amaranthus, the everlasting flower that never fades, according to Aesop’s Fables. I mean, seriously! How clichéd is that?

Unfortunately, I needed money. After years of traveling, I returned home to my aunt’s boarding in Epiphany, Louisiana with dwindling funds and zero job prospects, dependent upon my aunt’s good will and vegetarian cooking—the latter being a punishment for any self-respecting omnivore. Christmas had been the last straw. A minor toothache turned into an excruciating and expensive cavity on the brink of becoming abscessed. When it became clear I couldn't live the rest of my life with a bag of ice strapped to my swollen face, what little money I had went to the dentist. Reduced to bumming off Aunt Lottie’s friends to buy her a last-minute Christmas gift, I decided it was time to go job hunting.

The Christmas rush had already ended, unfortunately. No one but Mickey D’s was hiring on the Westbank. Well, McDonald’s, which didn’t offer much in the way of payment, and a gentlemen’s club called Cherry Bombs. But they weren’t hiring waitresses, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. The bartender at Cherry Bombs told me the Amaranthus was hiring and they paid well. It wasn't a strip club, so nudity wasn't a job requirement. At the time, it sounded too good to be true. I was beginning to find out why.

You know what I am, Horatio said, giving me a look full of guile. Seems only fair I should know what you are, do you not think?

He wasn’t bothering to hide the fangs now. This was a belated reminder that even though he wouldn’t be the one to kill me, that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt me.

I reached into the pocket of my coat and gave Charlie Bear a reassuring squeeze. The tiny stuffed bear is my security blanket when things in my life go bust. Horatio’s smile froze, and his eyes darted to my hand. He leaned forward as if preparing to pounce over the desk. Maybe he thought I was carrying a stake, or a hex bag, or a holy hand grenade. To keep him from going for my throat, I removed my empty hand from my pocket, and held it out for him to see.

I sighed. I hadn’t wanted to do this, but this interview was on the verge of becoming a nightmare. I played the only card I had.

My aunt is a witch. She told me the way things work in this city. She says you vampires control New Orleans like the mafia controls New Jersey.

That seemed to take the edge off his smile. She belongs to the Order? he said, referring to the Cyprian Order of Magic. They consider themselves to be the ruling body of anyone who has the slightest bit of magical ability in the Western world. Aunt Lottie is not a fan, considers them a magical bullshit bureaucracy, and refuses to let The Man tell her what to do. Yeah, that’s what she calls them.

I snorted. Oh, hell no.

Is she a New Orleans rogue under the protection of the city?

She’s a Westbank witch, I said.

Hmm, Horatio said, tapping his fingers together. Who does she claim allegiance to?

I gave him a blank stare. She voted Green Party last election, I think.

No, he said with a measure of exasperation. Who offers her protection?

Horatio was fishing for that shiny silver lining. I forced myself not to roll my eyes.

She doesn’t need anyone’s protection. She doesn’t want anyone’s protection. My aunt is good at what she does. Damn good. And she hates vampires, just to let you know.

Cross, he said, eyeing me as if I had said something significant. She lives on the Westbank, you say?

I nodded.

I recall a family of witches going by the name of Cross in that area years ago.

I wondered how far back he was thinking. The Westbank Cross family goes all the way back to the early 1800s. For all I knew, Horatio shook hands with my many times great-grandfather. Doubtful. If the man had been anything like Aunt Lottie, he wouldn't have allowed Horatio within spitting distance of his family.

There are a few of us around, I shrugged.

She hates my kind, yet her niece is sitting across from me, interviewing for a position at a vampire run establishment. You must be desperate.

Another flash of fang. Another raised eyebrow. Horatio stared at me, waiting for me to explain myself. I stared back. The silence stretched on. That job at the titty bar looked better by the minute.

He broke the silence with a long, exasperated sigh. Why are you here, Mercy? I don’t need a keeper. I filled that position months ago.

Keeper of the Tavern is an archaic term for someone with supernatural abilities who protects a vampire’s establishment during daylight hours. This usually includes a little slave wage work like tending bar or mopping puke off the floor. It’s a good job to take if you want to gain the attention of a powerful mage on the prowl for an apprentice. It's also a good position to have if you're on the run from a magical bullshit bureaucracy and need the protection of a powerful supernatural employer.

I hadn’t bothered to consider the job. I knew a handful of spells from Aunt Lottie, most hedge mage level at best, useless for the position. She had wanted to apprentice me, teach me the major stuff, but I never showed an interest. It’s not going to save me from my fated death, so why bother.

I heard you were looking for waitresses for the 2000 New Year’s rush. I have experience, so I thought I’d give it a shot.

Horatio skimmed over the resume I placed on his desk at the start of my interview. His amused expression told me he wasn’t impressed. I copied a good portion of it out of a business textbook. The part about my being a promotions coordinator at Business Inc. was definitely in the realm of bullshit. I had worked at a couple of bar and grill type establishments over the years, so I hadn’t fibbed about everything.

Why not try one of the mortal owned clubs? he said, folding his hands over the worthless resume.

Point me to a bar in this city that isn't run by fangs and overactive hormones. It’s not like you guys advertise.

Yes, it does make things difficult, doesn’t it? he smiled. There are clubs on the Westbank. Few of my kind reside on your side of the river. There is a place…Cherry Bombs, I believe? I hear they are currently hiring.

I gritted my teeth. His smile widened.

No one legitimate is hiring on the Westbank, I snapped. Believe me, I looked. I wouldn’t make as much in a Westbank bar as I would in a New Orleans night club, anyway. You guys get the lion’s share of the tourist trade, am I right?

This is so, he nodded.

I don’t want to be your human Happy Meal or shake my tits for dollar bills. You need extra help. I need a job. Win-win.

Horatio gave me a once over, no doubt wondering how powerful my aunt was, how delicious I might be, and if I was worth the trouble of finding out. Unprotected witches are like wild cards. You could be dealing with a hedge mage with all the power of a child’s birthday party magician or Morgana le Fey on a bad hair day.

Finally, he came to a decision.

You say you know how things work in New Orleans. Perhaps your aunt forgot to mention a few important details.

Such as?

Most undead club owners require certain extra… he gave me a significant pause, "services, shall we say, from their mortal employees."

He smiled. I waited for an explanation.

A weekly blood donation is a job requirement, he continued, all patience. Blood and…other things. That is why we pay better than mortal establishments.

Other things? I said with a frown and a raised eyebrow of my own. The blood I could maybe get around, especially if I convinced him I was an—insert significant pause here—acquired taste. Other things, however, boded ill. I didn’t like the sound of other things.

My employees consider it a perk, he said, without going into detail. He didn’t have to. His impious grin and the way he was eyeing my chest told me everything I needed to know. You might too, if you are willing to deny your aunt’s protection?

Not bothering to hide my look of disgust, I stood up without offering him a handshake.

Thanks anyway. Sorry for wasting your time, I said, and made for the office door.

I was almost out the door when I blinked and had to squelch a yelp when he appeared in front of me. He was blocking the doorway, smiling down on me. I felt like a trapped idiot.

He won’t be the one to kill me, I thought, trying to keep my cool. Too bad there were other things to worry about besides dying. I slipped my hand into my coat pocket. Clutching Charlie Bear, I chided myself for not bringing a holy hand grenade.

If you don’t mind? I said wishing I knew a spell to keep my heart from beating a hole in my chest.

Horatio was taller than me by a foot, had to bend his neck to look down on me. His face was pale enough to see tiny blue veins just beneath the flesh. The dead bastard must have skipped lunch from all the tingly feelings I got from him.

When a vamp is hungry, they have some weird mojo thing that makes anything with a pulse go goo-goo eyed. It’s involuntary, I've been told, and has something to do with their aura asserting its will onto others. The hungrier they are, the more intense their aura becomes. It’s even worse with older vampires. Aunt Lottie had warned me this could happen. She never left the house without doing a protection spell on her own aura to ward off such a thing. I hadn’t bothered to ask her for one. If I had, she would have wanted to know why I needed it, hogtied me and locked me in the attic until I came to my senses.

I’ve bumped into less than a handful of vampires in my life, but I could tell Horatio was no newbie. His physical appearance placed him somewhere in his late twenties, early thirties, but he was much older. Older than any vampire I’d met. The one vampire I’d had physical contact with had been close to five hundred years old. I knew this because I had sensed his death when I touched him—his first death—and I knew instinctively it had happened a long, long time ago. Like a piece of thread that's been cut, retied, and stretched thin over a long distance. Miles and miles of thread, and every mile equaled a century’s worth of undead life. I don’t know how better to explain it.

Horatio could have given that guy a run for his money, and I wasn’t even touching him. The first encounter had not been a pleasant experience. I got away with my skin intact—and I mean that in every sense of the word—but it was a close thing. As it was, I had the simultaneous urge to reach out to touch him while wanting to run like hell. Horatio smiled, sensing my struggle to control myself. He was toying with me, enjoying his game. If I didn’t do something soon, he would take this game too far.

Don’t want to keep my aunt waiting, I said in as steady a tone as I could muster.

I wanted to avoid conflict. The pointed reminder that I had someone waiting for me at home, someone who might have the power to turn him into a frog, was the only ace I had left. I didn’t know if Aunt Lottie could do that, per se, but the image of an undead frog with fangs brought a smile to my lips. Horatio might have misinterpreted this as bravado I could back up with a few powerful hexes. Whatever the reason, it did the trick.

Forgive my rudeness. It isn’t often I get to play the gentleman, he said stepping out of the way to open the door for me. He gave a mocking wave of his hand to let me know I could leave, looking less gallant than amused. I wanted to smack him.

Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I said, trying to leave the room without touching him. Fat chance. His hand brushed against my own as I walked past.

The vision slammed into me with no warning, and I held on to the door frame to keep my legs from buckling under me as I followed the thread of Horatio’s current life to his death. Not his future death. There were too many possibilities to hold onto just one. This vision was a recap of his first.

A grassy field at sunset. Dead bodies everywhere. Ancient soldiers carrying poles with metal dragons. A gut wound. Horatio lies on the ground bleeding. The world spins. Close to death. The sun dips below the horizon. A full faced man kneels at his side.

"Brother! I thought they killed you."

The full faced man smiles. They tried.

A flash of fang. Yellow eyes. Horatio wants to scream, but can barely find the energy to breath. The monster tells him he will live forever. Cuts his own wrist, places it against Horatio’s lips, forcing him to drink—

Miss Cross!

I snapped to attention.

The monster was gone. Horatio stood in front of me, both hands on my shoulders to keep me steady. The smile was gone, replaced with a look of concern. I shrugged him off, unable to stand his touch. He wasn’t just old, he was ancient. Many of the dead soldiers lying on that grassy field looked like Roman legionnaires.

You fainted. Are you quite alright?

I’m good, I said and took a step away from him. His death left me feeling cold and shaky, and I could feel a headache coming on. Just need some air or something.

He gave me a skeptical look, but didn’t try to stop me as I hurried out the door and scurried down the employee hallway. I didn’t glance back to see if he was following me, but I could sense his eyes staring a hole through the back of my head. Would he follow me? What if he made a grab for me outside the club? What would he do with me once he had me?

The sound of his office door shutting behind me echoed throughout the hall. I peeked over my shoulder. I was alone, but so shaken, I realized I had gone the wrong way. The hallway was short with only a few rooms; a janitor’s closet, a break room, and Horatio’s office. Two exits on either end led straight outside and to the inner club. I was heading towards the main floor of the club instead of the courtyard exit I had originally entered. Going back would mean passing Horatio's office. No thanks.

I kept walking, leaving through a door leading to the inner club. A wave of loud swing music hit me as I exited the employee section. The Squirrel Nut Zippers song Hell blared from hidden speakers. It felt appropriate. The Amaranthus was packed, and I began to sweat from the heat of so many bodies pressed together. Weaving my way through the crowd, I could sense other vampires around me, but they paid me no mind as I crossed the dance floor looking for the way out.

Five minutes later, I was out the door, praying my stupid yellow Vespa hadn’t been stolen a couple streets away where I parked it, when I bumped into her. She was a redheaded woman with beautiful, emerald green eyes—beautiful and angry. She clutched the lapels of her black trench coat tight against her body, glaring both at me and the building behind me. The woman had the look of a tyrannical nun visiting a whore house, bent on condemnation. I could tell she was hiding something under that coat too, and, for a moment, I thought it might be a gun.

I’m not psychic in the sense that I can touch someone and see a tall, dark stranger in your future. Well, maybe if that stranger happens to be killing you or administering the last rites. I can only see the possibilities of a death and believe me, it’s scary the many ways a person might bite it on any given day. I couldn’t touch this woman and get a vision of what she was hiding. But I could see if what she was hiding might lead to any kind of badness.

I bumped into her. Apologizing for my clumsiness, I touched her hand and hoped I was being paranoid. I received the vision. My suspicions were confirmed. Red was carrying a wooden stake, heading for the courtyard exit next to the club. A tall wooden gate led to the courtyard from Bourbon Street. It was an employees only area, with a sign warning away trespassers. I had been through that area myself after I spotted Becca, one of the club’s employees, heading into work. After flagging her down and explaining about my job interview, she took me through that way to get to Horatio’s office.

With that one touch, I knew Red would die in that courtyard, staked her with her own weapon. It would hurt like hell, but it wouldn’t kill her. A sharp set of fangs attached to a very angry vampire would be the instrument of her demise.

If I didn't do something to save her, the mysterious redheaded woman was not going to leave the Amaranthus alive.

Chapter Two

Watch it, you idiot! Red snarled and stalked off.

It was a quarter to eight. The gate to the courtyard was a few steps away, my Vespa parked just a couple blocks from the club. I could walk away, climb onto my crappy moped, and make it back home in time for a late dinner. I had to make a quick pit stop to buy a carton of Kools for Lulu, my aunt’s best friend and one of her less nefarious tenants, but I still had time. Aunt Lottie had mentioned something about vegetarian Tex-Mex. Not exactly appetizing, but it had to be better than sticking my nose in something that would get it cut off.

I made my way across the street, reminding myself I didn’t owe this woman any favors. The thought of letting someone get killed without at least trying to warn them left a bad taste in my mouth, though. I never allow a person to die if there’s any chance of saving them, but Red was the aggressor here. Probably. Perhaps. I mean, she had a stake on her, right? Then again, this could turn out to be a case of self-defense. For all I knew, she worked at Home Depot and lost her only can of mace. Without enough information to go on with just one vision, it all came down to Red getting killed by a vampire.

I had to save her.

Heaving a heavy sigh, I turned back and considered my options. I could call the police, inform the staff, or take matters into my own hands. In my experience, calling the police is rarely helpful. They would never make it in time, and anyway, half the time they think you’re pranking them. If I told one of the mortal employees, they would tell the boss. I didn’t think sending an ancient, bloodthirsty vampire in to rescue a damsel in distress would end well. Especially when said damsel happened to have a wooden stake on her person. Vampires tend to frown on that type of thing. Go figure.

That left me to handle it. Yay. At least I knew I wouldn’t die tonight.

I reentered the club. Glancing around the room, I searched for a weapon. I wasn't quite sure what I was looking for. Something pointy and made of wood, I guess, like a pool stick or—I don’t know—a sharpened wooden stake to magically appear before me because I needed one. Wouldn’t you know it, the Amaranthus was short of pointy wooden objects.

I was about to give up when I noticed a woman sitting at the bar, slurping down some green looking concoction from a martini glass. A vampire with tattoos crawling up his neck was chatting her up. His wife beater shirt revealed more tats covering his arms and chest, and he had enough piercings to blow the fuses on an airport metal detector. His lifeline felt much shorter than Horatio’s. If it hadn't been for the hungry aura radiating from him, I would have mistaken him for human.

Tat boy's look didn’t quite fit with the classy décor of the club which seemed to be striving for a 1940s big band feel. The besotted woman didn’t seem to notice. I had no intention of saving her from her stupidity. I had enough problems trying to save Red, but eyeing her slinky black dress and fuck me heels, I realized the six-inch stilettos she wore would make the perfect weapon. I cursed my choice of Doc Martens for the interview. I knew I would regret job hunting in my scruffy boots, ugly green coat, and worn jeans. The best you could say about my ensemble was it was clean. Oh, and there were no holes in my R.E.M. t-shirt. Alas, my comfort-over-style induced love of grunge would not save Red.

Asking to borrow a stranger’s shoes would be tricky even if she had been alone. The request would certainly raise an eyebrow from her pointy toothed companion. Or it would have, if someone hadn’t already shaved them off. The shoes were out, but her hair was done up in a bun held in place with a pair of black chopsticks. I thought I might have a shot at begging or buying them off her. I just hoped they were made of wood, not plastic. I had only ever seen a vamp killed with a wooden stake. I didn’t know if the stories were true, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

Excuse me? I said tapping the lady on the shoulder.

Yes? the woman said with a slight slur in her voice. She looked at me with a curious, yet glazed expression.

The tattooed vamp eyeballed me with a scowl, annoyed I had disrupted his meal time. He gave me the same food/sex once over Horatio had given me in his office, but didn’t look too enthusiastic. I ignore him, despite his vampy aura.

I was wondering where you picked up those lovely hair things, I said pointing at the chopsticks.

The woman came close to falling off her stool as her eyes rolled upwards towards the top of her head. She smiled and patted her hair when she realized what I was talking about.

Oh, that! My sister made them for me. She owns a shop in Baton Rouge. Hand carves them herself. You like?

The hair sticks resembled twigs with acorns carved at the tips. Lulu once told me acorns are a symbol of good luck and fertility. Considering this chick’s current taste in companions, I’d say she missed the mark on both counts.

They’re exquisite, I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster for a silly pair of hair appliances.

The woman gave her bun another vain pat. Her thirsty buddy rolled his eyes. Women! Always messing with their hair when they should be feeding their man.

We’re having a private conversation here, he snapped. Why don’t you go bother someone else?

Don’t be silly, The woman said as she rummaged inside her clutch purse. Let me give you my sister’s business card. I know it’s in here somewhere. She has one of those websites and everything.

Actually, I was hoping I could buy them off you, I said.

The woman blinked. Tattoo Guy glared.

What? These? she said.

I nodded, smiling. The vampire did not. He eyed my hair as if I had a head full of lice.

They are just too cute for words! I’ll give you twenty bucks for them.

Seriously? But—

Okay, okay. I'll make it forty, but that's my final offer, I said, taking my wallet out of my coat pocket. I was running out of time. I dug out my last twenty-dollar bill and the money Lulu had given me for the cigarette run. If I saved that redheaded meanie’s life, she better be grateful enough to cough up some expenses.

The woman's eyes lit up. How many weird, green martinis can I buy with that kind of dough, I could hear her thinking. Forty dollars for two little sticks. Capitalism is a sad, sad thing when I’m not the one making money.

You want forty bucks for that crap? the vamp sneered as if I were insane or stupid.

You’ve got yourself a deal, she said, giving him a frosty look. Someone wasn’t getting any tonight, aura or no aura.

The woman held her hands out in a gimme gesture. I forked over the forty, fighting back tears from the loss of funds and anticipating the hellish nicotine fit Lulu was sure to throw when I returned home. The woman removed the sticks from her hair, along with a little wooden circle thingy with holes to keep them in place. She shook out her long, dark hair, and handed them to me. Personally, I thought she looked better with her hair down, but take that fashion assessment with a grain of salt and my ugly green thrift store coat.

As I accepted them, her companion stared a hole through my head. Something clicked, and I realized I should have come up with a better cover story. My hair is short, bobbed a couple inches past my ears. I could put it up in a ponytail if I wanted that permanent facelift look, but a bun would be impossible. My smile widened as I prayed he didn’t put too much thought into this. Yeah, and Aunt Lottie might vote republican someday.

I’ll just go to the ladies’ room and try it on, I said and headed in the direction of the restrooms. In the pit of my stomach, I knew Creepy Tattoo Vamp was going to follow me.

I turned back to peek, as he walked away from his Happy Meal on legs and disappeared through the door to the employee’s section. Off to find Horatio, no doubt. That was the last thing I needed. Best to get this over with quick. I veered away from the restrooms and headed out the front entrance. Save Red, get reimbursed, and haul ass out of the Quarter. Make it home in time for cold tofu tortillas and soy chili con queso.

Bourbon overflowed with tourists. They strolled up and down the street, wearing multi-colored beads and carrying go-cups filled with liquor. It wasn't as bad as it would be come Mardi Gras, Becca had told me, but it was getting there. No cars, of course. The city blocked off this part of Bourbon Street to traffic at night. So hard to laissez les bons temps rouler while worrying over drunk drivers every time you cross the street. A set of large wooden gate doors on the left side of the club led to the inner courtyard. I couldn’t see inside from the street, which meant I was going in blind. Becca must have forgotten to lock it behind her. Gee, must be my lucky day, I thought with a frown. I ducked inside.

Smooth cement gave way to cobble stones as I entered the area. The inner courtyard was little more than a wider than usual alleyway shared between two adjacent buildings. It reeked of stale beer and trash. A one-story, windowless structure at the far end stood between the two buildings. Becca had informed me that the courtyard served as a horse and buggy entrance in the old days, and the building used to be stables. These days, it functioned as the club's stockroom. Something about it made my skin crawl, but I had been too busy worrying over a botched job interview to really worry about it.

A security light halfway down the courtyard, just over the service entrance illuminated Red who was struggling with the vampire I had seen in my vision. She held the stake tight with both hands, but was in no position to stab her assailant. The vampire squeezed her body tight against his, her back to him, and her arms pinned at the elbows. Red wasn’t going anywhere, and if my vision was right, she couldn’t breathe in enough air to scream for help either.

The vampire’s features had been difficult to make out in the vision, but he looked familiar. His worn jeans and western style boots made him look like a hatless cowboy, but I couldn’t place him. His struggles to hold onto Red made it hard to get a good look at his face.

That struck me as odd. The struggling, I mean. Vampires are super-fast and physically powerful. This guy was straining just to keep her in his arms. Was it the adrenaline rush giving her the extra boost, or was she high on something? Any minute now he would rip her throat out and save himself the trouble.

Red cursed and drove both feet into his right knee, putting her entire body into the strike. He loosened his grip. Not long enough for her to escape, but it was enough to allow her some air to let out a meager scream. Still holding onto her torso with one arm, the vampire covered her mouth with his other hand, blocking her cries for help. But Red wasn't out of the fight yet.

She bit his hand. The vampire howled in pain as her jaw held on, shaking his hand with her teeth like a dog worrying a tough piece of meat. Red wasn’t just biting him. She was sucking the wound. I began to question the wisdom of my current endeavor to save this woman, but not for long. Vampires were evil parasites, Aunt Lottie had always told me. Maybe he had drained someone she knew. Red might be crazy, but at least she was human. Screw it, I thought, and got down to business.

The vampire growled, grasped the hand holding the wooden stake with his other hand, and gave the woman a sharp stab in the side. Red’s eyes widened in pain and shock, caught off guard long enough to stop struggling. The wooden stake made a disgusting sucking sound as she yanked it out of her side. It slipped from her wet, bloody hand and clattered to the pavement. The vampire held her in his arms like a limp rag doll. His back was towards me now, fangs extended, ready to drain Red.

With Red in the way, I’d never get a chest shot. The likelihood of me stabbing his heart through his back with a couple of flimsy hair appliances seemed just as unlikely, but it was the best shot I had. I clasped the pointy chopsticks together in my right hand and ran towards him. He would hear me coming, but his focus was on his incapacitated victim. I would have just enough time to stab the bastard if I was lucky and my aim was good. Alerted by the sound of my Docs slapping against the cobblestones, he looked up and over his shoulder.

Red fell from his arms to the ground and scrambled away, clutching her injured side. The wound wasn't fatal—not yet. I swung my arm in an upward arc, ready to plunge them deep into his back. I hadn’t seen him smile, couldn’t tell if he would be the one to kill me, but I knew I was safe. This wasn’t my day to die. I chanted this mantra in my head the few seconds it took to reach him. It was quite motivational. At least, up until the point where my feet slipped right from under me as I reached him.

I had been so focused on staking the vampire and saving Red that I hadn’t noticed the small pile of wet clothing in my path. When I slipped and landed on my tailbone, I noticed it then. The clothes were bloody, not just covered in blood but saturated. In my defense, it was dark outside the circle of light near the door, and he had been turning towards me as I slipped. Chances were good I'd have missed anyway. The chopsticks plunged deep into his side, between two of his ribs. The jab went deep enough to puncture a lung, but missed the heart by inches. If he had been human he would be breathing blood right now, incapacitated for sure. But he wasn’t human, and he sure as hell wasn’t incapacitated.

I heard a crunch as I fell. Pain radiated up my spine. At first, I thought I had broken my tailbone. My hands slapped down on the sticky mound and came in contact with something small and spherical, a glass vial filled with some kind of dark liquid. There was another vial next to it, crushed to pieces. My special senses told me that whatever was in those vials and the clothes I had landed in had been something long dead, but I didn’t receive any specific flashes. I didn’t have time to process what I was sensing or question why I was sensing anything at all without a body attached. A sharp hissing above alerted me to other problems.

I looked up into the face of an angry vampire.

Will you look at that, I said giving him a feeble smile. This isn’t the ladies’ restroom.

His eyes flared, glowing yellow in the dim light as his lips curled over his extended fangs. They were long and curving downward like a snake’s and looked just as sharp.

Not buying it, huh? I grimaced, trying to come up with Plan B.

I patted the ground around me, searching for anything I could use as a weapon. The stake was out of reach. Red had vamoosed, wisely—and rather insensitively, I thought—ditching me in my time of need. I held no hopes of her returning with the cavalry. I hoped she at least had the decency to call the cops. They would never get to me in time to save me from…well, whatever this guy intended do, short of killing me. The gesture would have been appreciated, though.

Instead of a stake, I found a set of keys someone had dropped. Better than nothing, I thought, and held them in my fist with the keys poking through my fingers like a jagged set of claws, ready to gouge his eyes out. I knew it wouldn’t stop him, but maybe blinding him would give me a chance to get away.

He pulled the chopsticks out of his side, snapped them into pieces, and threw them over his shoulder. They clattered behind him as he took a step towards me. I scooted away, but didn't bother to scream. I knew he’d be on me before I got the first yelp out. If I was lucky, I could take out his eyes and make a quick escape. If I wasn’t, he would try to drain me. It would give me time to run, if that last time in the