Jeaniene Frost - Halfway to the Grave

“Kitten,” Bones said patiently, “’round five percent of the population is undead. We’re in every state, every nation, and we have been for a very long time. Now, I give you, there are certain areas where you’ll find more of us. Ohio happens to be one of them. I told you it has a thinner line separating the natural and the paranormal, so the whole region gives off a faint charge. The younger ones love that. Find it invigorating.”

“You’re telling me my state is…a vampire hot spot?”

A nod. “Don’t feel too unlucky. There are dozens around the globe.”

Something brushed past, and my radar went haywire as I craned my neck to see who, or what, had just slipped by.

“What was that?” I whispered, having to press my mouth nearly to his ear to be heard. They were a noisy bunch of immortals.

“What?” He glanced in the direction I stared.

“That.” Impatiently. “That…thing. It’s not a vampire, I can tell, but it’s definitely not human. What is it?” It being of male gender, though I wouldn’t have been sure of anything, and looking human but not quite.

“Oh, him. He’s a ghoul. Flesh-eater. You know, like Night of the Living Dead, only they don’t walk so funny or look as hideous.”

Flesh-eater. My stomach heaved at the thought.

“Here.” He pointed to the bar. There was an empty seat near the ghosts-or would the politically correct term be living-impaired? “Wait there, have a drink. Your bloke will show up soon.”

“Are you crazy?” My mind couldn’t compute fast enough all of the reasons not to do as directed. “This place is crawling with monsters! I don’t want to be an appetizer!”

He laughed low. “Trust me, Kitten. See all the normal people waiting to get in? This is a special place, like I said. Mostly vamps and ghouls, but also humans as well. That’s part of the lure. The humans that come here are handpicked or they wouldn’t know about it. They come to mingle with the undead, and even to get some blood extracted. Believe me, there are those who get off on it. Whole Dracula thing, y’know. But there is a strict etiquette here. Absolutely no violence on the premises and only willing feedings. Can human nightclubs say the same?”

With that, he melted off into the crowds, leaving me with no choice but to sit where he said and wait for my victim. How was I supposed to spot him here? It looked like Creepshow met Studio 54.

The bartender, a vampire, asked me what my pleasure would be.

“Leaving,” I snapped, then realized how rude that was. “Uh, sorry…um…do you have gin and tonic? You know…for normal people?” All I needed was a flesh spritzer, or a Bloody Mary the likes of which I’d never forget, to make my night complete.

The bartender laughed, showing teeth without a hint of fang. “First time here, honey? Don’t be nervous, it’s perfectly safe. Unless you leave with someone, of course. Then you’re on your own.”

How comforting. After assuring me the drink contained nothing more than regular gin and tonic-he showed me the bottles to allay my suspicion-I gulped it down as though it were a magic elixir that could make the whole place disappear. It was delicious, better in fact than any I’d had before. The bartender, whose name was Logan, smiled when I complimented him on it and informed me that after a hundred years, one got rather good at the trade.

“You’ve been a bartender for a hundred years?” Goggling at him, I quaffed another healthy sip. “My God, why?”

A casual shrug. “I like the work. You meet new people, get to talk a lot, and don’t have to think. How many jobs can you say that about?”

How many, indeed. Certainly not mine.

“What do you do, young lady?” he inquired politely.

Kill vampires. “I, ah, go to school. College, that is.”

Nervousness made me sputter. Here I was, having a casual conversation with a vampire in a club full of ungodly things. Where had my life gone wrong?

“Ah, college. Study hard, it’s the key to success.” With that advice and another quick smile, he turned away to take an incoming order from a ghoul across the counter. This was too weird.

“Hello, there, pretty girl!”

The voice made me turn around, and two young men grinned at me in a friendly way. From their looks and heartbeats, I knew they were human. Wow, what a relief.

“Hi, how ya doing?” I felt like someone in another country who met a stranger from her hometown and was inordinately glad to see people with pulses. They gathered around me, one on either side of my chair.

“What’s your name? This is Martin”-he gestured to the brunette with the boyish smile-“and I’m Ralphie.”

“I’m Cat.” Smiling, I shook hands with both of them. They eyed my glass with interest.

“Whatcha drinkin’?”

“Gin and tonic.”

Ralphie was about my height of five-seven, not tall for a man, and he had a sweet smile. “Another gin for the lady!” he bellowed importantly to Logan, who nodded and brought a fresh glass.

“Thanks for the offer, boys, but I’m kind of…waiting for someone.” As much as I liked having my own kind around me, still there was a job to be done and they would hinder my plans.

They each groaned theatrically.

“Come on, one drink! It’s hard to be the fleshies around here, we have to stick together.”

The entreaty so clearly mirrored my own thoughts that I relented with another smile.

“One drink. That’s all, okay? What are you two doing here, by the way?” They both looked my age and way too innocent.

“Oh, we like it here, it’s exciting.” Martin bobbed his head up and down like a bird, watching as Ralphie again gestured to Logan for another refill.

“Yeah, exciting enough to get you killed,” I warned them.

Martin dropped his wallet when he fumbled for the money for my gin, and I got down to help him pick it up. They looked too gullible by half. Giggling, Ralphie handed me my drink with a flourish.

“You’re here. You can’t say you don’t understand.”

“You don’t want to know why I’m here,” I muttered, more to myself than to them. With a slight salute, I raised my glass. “Thanks for the drink. Now you’d better go.”

“Aren’t you going to finish it?” Ralphie asked with almost childish disappointment.

I opened my mouth to respond, but a familiar voice beat me to it.

“Sod off, wankers.”

Bones loomed threateningly behind them, and they gave him one frightened look before scampering off. He slid into the seat next to me after shoving its occupant aside. The person left, unoffended. Guess it wasn’t that uncommon.

“What are you doing here? What if he comes in?” My voice was a low hiss as I pretended not to look at him for the benefit of anyone watching.

He simply laughed that infuriating chuckle of his and held out a hand.

“We haven’t met. My name is Crispin.”

I ignored the hand extended to me and whispered furiously to him out of the corner of my mouth, “I don’t think that’s funny.”

“Don’t want to shake my hand, do you? That’s not nice manners. Didn’t your mum teach you better?”

“Will you stop?” I’d passed the point of furious and headed straight into enraged. “Quit playing! I have a job to do. The real Crispin’s going to be here and he’ll be put off by your blathering! God, don’t you have any sense?” Sometimes he was too cheeky for his own good.

“But I’m not lying, pet. My name is Crispin. Crispin Phillip Arthur Russell III. That last part was merely a bit of fancy on my mum’s part, since clearly she had no idea who my da was. Still, she thought adding numerals after my name would give me a bit of dignity. Poor sweet woman, ever reluctant to face reality.”