Blood Crazed

3. Void of Empathy

Chapter 3

Void of Empathy

Morning arose too early. I didn’t sleep well last night after my unanticipated encounter with Hernando de Soto. I had a strange feeling about this assignment. It came across as awry. Even disturbing. Following my conversation with John earlier, he was irritated with me more than usual. I remembered our conversation verbatim. It was short and far from sweet.

“You left out a crucial ingredient about my assignment,” my voice full of scold. “For example, the de Soto brothers? I had an encounter with Hernando. He entered my home uninvited last night.”

“I didn’t feel like listening to you bitch.”

“I know my place. Servants aren’t given free will. You could’ve at least warned me.”

“Why do I owe you an explanation? I do as I’m instructed. I suggest you do the same.” John ended the call with a click. So like him—cold and void of empathy. I sometimes forgot how little I meant to my owners. My handler was not any better. He harbored the same sentiments.

Regardless of John’s lack of solicitude, my perplexing questions continued to haunt me. Why would vampires hire an assassin to kill their own kind? More than a century of devouring humans, I suspected they’d grown into very powerful supernatural beings. How else could Hernando enter my dwelling without an invite? I expected his brother possessed the same ability. I wondered what other deadly parlor tricks the de Soto brothers had up their sneaky sleeves?

A bit on the cranky side, I pilfered through the cabinets and couldn’t find a coffee maker or coffee. With a drumming headache, I needed caffeine pronto. The diner suddenly came to mind as I began to salivate for their delicious brew. “What the hell!” I blew out. “I never made decent coffee anyway.”

I grabbed some cash from my stash and hid it in a hole in the wall behind a picture. I locked up and darted across the street to the much busier diner.

At six past eight, the bright sun glistened through the branches of the oaks, promising a warm early spring. Gardenia perfumed the gentle breeze as the birds chirped gaily, fluttering from tree to tree.

The town brimmed with life. Folks at the square gathered in small circles, chatting. People marched to the rhythm, coming and going from the diner. Ardor drifted in the street as traffic lined in a cortège. It was a total transformation from the emptiness of the deserted streets last night.

Entering the diner, I picked up on the busy thrum of chatter and hot grease and fried bacon that wafted in the air. When coffee struck my stomach, I instantly started craving the dark, steamy brew. I needed my caffeine fix like a baby needed milk. A little breakfast sounded good too. It’d help boost my energy for the difficult day ahead. Pancakes! My mood suddenly lightened.

I had a nagging suspicion that I’d be up to my elbows in work. I didn’t have to see the inside of the bar to know that it needed a lot of renovations to meet city ordinance. Lucky for me, the minor details were not my problem. John had a gift for getting the impossible done. He’d gotten his crooked hooks on a liquor license and permits to open the pub. Usually, an owner had to be inspected first before qualifying. John knew officials in high places. He was able to bypass all the red tape and applications required.

And to make sure we were able to complete the assignment in a well-organized and competent manner, he left me with sufficient funding. That was as long as I stayed within a reasonable budget. Like I said, I had my work cut out for me. If the interior looked anything like the exterior, John better start digging in his deep pockets.

I eased down in the same booth that I’d sat in last night. A soft moan slipped through my lips as my eyes gravitated across the street. I began thinking about the decor. Why not style it to my taste? I might as well make the place mine or at least until John reassigned me to another location. It needed a lot. Starting with the exterior: a coat of fresh paint, replacing rotten boards, cementing the entrance steps and getting a new sign. A bright neon sign for folks to see as they entered town. Something eye-catching. “What should I name the bar? Hmmm.” I tapped my finger against my lips. “Phoenix’s Pub!” Quite appropriate, I smiled to myself.

I faced a huge task ahead. Transforming the bar into an exciting attraction was a huge challenge. I’d have to bring out all the stops to get customers willing to tempt the night. If I succeeded, the vampires would come. I had that little trick imprinted into my cerebrum. If there was anything I knew, it was fangers.

Nothing hindered a vampire’s thirst. And it was almost impossible to kill one. I had a few handy toys and skills that served me well. With the right wooden stake and a strong jab straight through their dead heart, I was quite efficient. Quick reflexes were a must-have. Faster than the blink of an eye. In a fight with a fanger, there was no room for error. Otherwise, you’d be pushin’ up daisies or, even worse, end up as a vampire. I shivered over the notion. If that ever happened to me, I’d stake myself.

I glanced up and saw the waitress approaching. A different girl this morning. “Welcome to Witch Haven Diner,” she mumbled without looking up from her notepad. Her tag read, Trudie. Short, thick-waisted, and black hair. “Would you like some coffee while you look over the menu?” The waitress asked as she glanced up from her pad.

“Morning,” I smiled back, “I’ll have pancakes and sausage with maple syrup. Loads of cream for my coffee, too.”

“Sure thing, hun,” she paused, “You’re new here. You passin’ through or stayin’?”

“Thinking about hanging my hat here for a spell. I’m the new owner of the bar across the street.”

“Really?” her brow shot up. “I thought the city was tearin’ down that old eyesore.”

“Nope. I plan to open in a couple of weeks.”

“Sugar, it’s gonna take a miracle to get that shack running. Except...” she stopped in midsentence. Now she had my curiosity.

“Except what?”

She blew a strand of hair from her face, dropping her free hand on her hip. “I ain’t got long to talk, but you’re gonna have a hard time findin’ customers.”

My brows pinched as I leaned on my propped elbows. “Why is that?”

“Most of the town stay locked behind doors come nightfall. Too many folks gone missin’. Talk floatin’ ‘round her’ say it’s animal attacks, but no one is sayin’ f’sure.”

“You don’t say? The diner is opened late. Has any staff gone missing?”

She scoffed. “Honey, we have to hire a new waitress at least once a week. The poor girls just come up missing.”

“How many?” I asked sharply. It sounded like this problem had been going on for a long duration. Looked like I might be hanging my hat a while longer than I’d expected.

“Can’t say f’sure, but I heard there’s been a few bodies found down in the bayou. Deep in the swamp where most don’t dare go.”

“The swamp? Sure it’s not a hungry alligator?”

She cackled softly. “This is Louisiana, babee. A little old gator, don’t worry us none. It’s other things that frighten us, folks. Like dark voodoo and black magic. We down her’ don’t dare play with them things.”

“Surely the authorities are handling the problem.”

“Seems nobody can catch the rascal.” Her face soured as she stuffed her notepad in her apron pocket. “I’ll get your order right out. I hear you like our pancakes,” she flashed a mischievous smile. “Coffee’s comin’ too.” With that said, she spun on her white tennis shoes and headed off. I didn’t push further. She didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.

No question, there was an eerie stir in the wind. I didn’t run across too many towns that shut down by dusk unless there was a state of emergency. John didn’t mention anything about a curfew order.

A question kept nagging at my brain … just how many folks knew that the de Sotos brothers were centuries-old vampires? Two very thunderous uncanny creatures, who could easily crush this town in a blink. But they lived among the mundane peacefully. John said they looked after the town. Posed no threat. The brothers must care about this whistleblower, but why?

Skepticism crept into the crevice of my thoughts as I couldn’t stop speculating. What was their true motive for hiring an assassin to do their dirty work? Could this be a matter of rivalry? Wishing to be rid of other fangers invading their territory but not wanting the blood of their own kind on their hands? Did they wish to protect the residence, or were they just territorial?

The de Soto brothers were the first vampires I’d ever come across that took up residence. Most fangers were nomads, traveling like predator animals, always looking for their next kill. I laughed to myself. I’d never heard of civilized vampires—tamed fangers. The notion sounded preposterous. Even still. Why live here? Wouldn’t they have more supply in a city like New Orleans or anywhere else in the world than this insignificant hole-in-the-ground? What if the de Soto brothers were hiding. The notion of a fanger living in fear aroused my interest.