Andrew Fox - Fat White Vampire Blues

Jules pushed the door open. As he’d expected, Veronika had arrayed herself on the big bed like a double-page spread from the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

“You’re nine minutes early, darling,” she said. But her smile quickly collapsed as he entered. “You didn’t change your clothes.”

Jules self-consciously dusted some more soot off his jacket. “Yeah, well, y’see, I got halfway there, to Maureen’s house, and then I was so, y’know,overcome withlust for you that I just hadda come right over here.”

Veronika’s eyes sparkled, and she held out her plush arms for Jules to dive into. “Oh,goodie. I like that. A lot.”

But instead of joining her on the bed, Jules walked quickly to the sliding door facing the balcony, unlatched it, and opened it a couple of feet. A front of warm, humid air immediately entered the room.

“Jules? Why did you open the window? It’s summertime, sweetie-we’ve got theair on. You’re going to make my hair go all frizzy with that outside air-”

“It’s too cold in here,” Jules said. “I’m doin‘ this for your benefit-you’ll see. When you wake up as a vampire, you’ll crave warmth the way a politician craves kickbacks. Why d’you think all them vampires in stories are always climbin’ into women’s beds? It’s notalways for the blood.”

“Oh, allright, I supposeyou’re the expert on all this vampire stuff. But how about you make like one of those fictional vampires and climb intothis woman’s bed?”

Jules kicked off his shoes. The fly on his trousers got stuck, so he ripped the stubborn zipper open. Heck, he wouldn’t be wearing the damn things again, anyway. Likewise, he didn’t bother unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt-he ripped it off. Veronika giggled and beamed with approval at his apparent enthusiasm. Unencumbered by his battle-soiled clothing, Jules clambered on top of her. His lips quickly found her plump neck.

“Ooohh!”she squealed. “Darling, didn’t you want to start with, y’know, theother? Some foreplay, at least?”

“Naww,” Jules mumbled, his fangs already probing her neck. “Let’s get down to business. Time enough for the lovey-dovey stuff later.”

Jules was in no mood to be coy. No tender nibbles or little love bites tonight. As soon as he found her jugular, he bit down with the passionless force and precision of a punch-press machine.

“OOOOHHH!”

The salty liquid sprayed into his mouth like a gusher. Blood. The stuff of life. The stern words of the priest at St. Joseph’s echoed through his head:

There is no penance unless the sinner sins no more. Will you foreswear the drinking of human blood?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Father, Jules thought as he gulped it down.This is the last time. After this last little blood snack, I’ll be harmless and peaceful as a little lamb. Even Jesus would approve.

Could hereally make this the last time, though? As much as Veronika repelled him, he had to admit her blood tastedfantastic. After weeks of Maureen’s diet mixture and Doodlebug’s thin-as-water California blood, Jules had forgotten what the real thing tasted like. He hadn’t experienced anything this orgasmic since the night he’d drained Bessie out by Manchac swamp. Whatever Veronika’s other sins might be, self-denial wasn’t among them-her blood was chock-full of the fatty lipids that sent him to the moon.

She raked his back with her nails and moaned passionately as he sucked harder and harder. “Yes, darling, ohyes yes yes…”

Boy oh boy, did she have a lot of blood in her! He tried desperately to focus on his original intent. What he was planning to do-there might be no way back. Even Doodlebug had never tried splitting into more than five bodies at one time. He might subdivide himself so far that his personality, his will, his essence would disappear. Could he live with that?

“Drink me in, baby, drink me all up-I made my blood all sweet and luscious, just for you, Jules baby…”

You canhavethe things you’ve always wanted, but to get them, you might have to look at them in a new way…that’s what Doodlebug had written him, and he believed it now. And what were the things he really wanted? Mouthwatering New Orleans food. Soul-warming New Orleans jazz. The sounds and tastes and smells of his city, and the peace to enjoy them.

And Maureen. But he couldn’t have Maureen.

“Oh baby, make me your queen-make me yourqueen, baby-we’re almost there-king and queen of the vampires forever…”

Maureen. She was his queen. No one else.

He forced himself to stop drinking. Jules pulled his lips away from her neck and crouched above her weakly twitching body. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He’d almost lost control, almost gone all the way.

“… babe… baby, why’re you stopping? Don’t stop… don’t stop now… I’m almostthere, I can feel it… almost a vampire… finish… finish me off, Jules-”

Jules concentrated on tiny trains racing over tiny tracks for perhaps the final time. His great naked bulk began to shimmer.

“Jules!Finish meoff!”

Just before his lips melted, he said, “Fuck you and the bureaucrat you rode in on-”

The king-sized bed vanished beneath a cloud of oily mist. Veronika began to scream as multitudes of tiny, clawed feet materialized and ran across her prone body. She screamed louder and louder as the mist cleared and she saw who the feet belonged to.

Rats. White rats. Dozens and dozens of them; 187 in all. Seven hundred and forty-eight clawed feet scurried across her tummy, breasts, and legs on their way across the bed to the open window. Nearly two hundred pink, hairless tails twittered across her fingers, kneecaps, and nose before sliding from sight over the balcony.

Her screams were frenzied, but they couldn’t drown out the sweet music coming from Bourbon Street. The rats ran toward the sounds of the music. Toward the sanctuary of thousands and thousands of hidden, sunless crawl spaces within the walls and foundations of the ancient buildings of the Vieux Carrй. They skittered toward the music and darkness, and disappeared into obscurity.

And if the rats perked up their ears just right, they’d hear the mournful yet eternally optimistic notes of a jazz funeral circling the Quarter. And they’d hear Porkchop Chambonne’s trumpet lead the band into the opening bars of a new song of his own composition:

“The Fat White Vampire Blues.”