He sighed. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. It’s far more common in Latin America, but there have been reports of it in Atlanta and Dallas. Why?”
“A guy was in here tonight, and I think he thinks he’s a vampire hunter.”
Blair chuckled. “If only he knew who he was talking to. I’ll have the hamburger, medium well, with everything on it.” He tossed back the shot, took a sip of his beer, then said, “And another shot, if you please. It’s been a helluva day.”
Sam O’Grady, the owner of the bar, was my boss. He was a mountain of a man, a head taller than six feet, and well over three hundred pounds. With his bald head, mutton chops, and an open vest over a white shirt with bloused sleeves, he looked like the innkeeper in a medieval play.
When I went into work the following day, I told Sam about the guy who mentioned vampire bounties, and what Blair had said later.
“Lieutenant Blair is either ignorant of the true situation or trying to put a best face on it,” Sam said. “Vampire and shifter bounties are far more common than he let on. I don’t know of anyone offering bounties here in Westport, but if the chaos between the various factions continues, I could see it happening. Someone needs to control the young ones, and right now, no one is doing it.”
A member of the Illuminati’s Hunters’ Guild had killed the vampire Master of the City a few months before. Without clear leadership, many of the young vampires had gone rogue, attacking humans and generally terrorizing the city. Four mature vampires were jockeying for position, but until one of them gained unquestioned ascendance, the situation was dangerous and chaotic.
I didn’t think offering bounties and attracting a bunch of vampire hunters would improve the situation. It would probably make it worse.
Chapter 2
George Flynn was most women’s dream. Tall, dark, handsome, and wealthy, always immaculately dressed, sophisticated and urbane. The only problem was he didn’t breathe. George was a vampire.
Most vampires don’t drink alcohol because their metabolism doesn’t process it very well. Within a few weeks of being turned, the majority of them figure that out and stick to blood. An exception, I’d found, was with very old vampires who developed a taste for fine spirits before they died.
George had a taste for fine whiskey and came in occasionally to indulge it and pull my chain.
“Good evening, my sweet,” he greeted me. “Have you given any more thought to becoming my queen for all eternity?”
“Oh, was I supposed to think about that? Darn, it slipped my mind.” I smiled at him. “And what are you in the mood for this evening, other than a taste of bartender?”
He gave a dramatic resigned sigh as he scanned the bottles on the top shelf over the back bar. “What is that Suntory?” he asked.
“Japanese Scotch.” I ran through the attributes of the three different versions we carried, and he ordered the twelve-year-old single malt.
“So, what brings you in this evening?” I asked as I set the glass in front of him. “And don’t give me some blarney about how much you missed me.”
He grinned. “I had a little time on my hands and thought I’d drop in and see if you had heard any interesting news. Bartenders hear all the juicy gossip, you know.”
“I would think the kind of gossip you’re interested in would be more readily available at your place,” I said.
Flynn owned a vampire-goth strip club featuring both male and female strippers. The kind of place where college girls who read too many romance novels went to meet vampires. Of course, everyone knew vampires weren’t real, but I always wondered how they explained away their morning-after anemia.
Flynn shook his head. “If I only listen to other vampires, it’s often nothing but an echo chamber. Barclay has a bad habit of wearing that type of blinders. I find what outsiders are saying is usually more enlightening.”
George Flynn and Rodrick Barclay were the two main contenders for supremacy over all the vampires in Westport. Both were close to two hundred years old and were the ‘children’ of the previous Master of the City, Lord Guy Carleton.
“What do you know about vampire hunters and bounties?” I asked.
His face froze, and his eyes became hard red stones. “Here? In Westport?” His voice was harsh and flat, intimidating and totally different from the light, bantering tone I was used to.
“Humor me,” I said. “I’m a curious kind of person, and I’m trying to educate myself. And no, I’m not asking about Westport, but just in general.”
Flynn relaxed a little bit and took a sip of his whisky.
“Throughout history,” he said, “humans have hunted and killed that which they don’t understand. Vampires, witches, those of other colored skin or other religions. At times, someone whips them into a frenzy for his own purposes. We call that a witch hunt, but the hunt can be for anyone convenient. The Jews in Europe in the last century are a prime example.”
He took another sip of his drink, gave me a furrowed-brow expression, and said, “I’m not sure I really like this.”
“Would you like me to get you something else?”
“Yes, please. The Macallan.”
He handed me the Suntory, and I put his glass under the bar out of sight. Vampires didn’t carry any diseases that humans could catch, and I was curious about the whisky. I could never afford a shot of it myself.
I hauled the Macallan twenty-five—our most expensive whisky—down from the top shelf and poured him a glass.
“Thank you,” he said, taking a sip and then smiling. “Much better. The situation here in Westport,” he continued, “is the kind of thing that provides fertile soil for such a witch hunt. Atlanta and Dallas also lost their Masters to the Hunters, with the same kind of resulting chaos you see here. The paranormal councils in those cities have issued bounties. Not only that, but young rogues have also sparked a war with the shifters in Dallas. I pray that doesn’t happen here.”
I thought of the young vamps I had stumbled across who were attacking those two shifters but decided not to mention it. I had heard estimates that the three packs whose range included part of Westport had over two thousand members, whereas there were fewer than a thousand vampires. About even odds.
“Are you any closer to resolving the situation here in Westport?” I asked.
Flynn shook his head.
I knew that eventually either Flynn or Barclay had to die the final death. The vacuum at the top of the vampire hierarchy had to be filled, and that required an undisputed Master. I was told that two other vampires of lesser power were also contenders, but no one took them seriously. The other possibility was that an older vampire might come in from out of town and take them all out.
Flynn and Barclay had both approached me to help them. I wasn’t sure why, but I had attracted a lot more attention than I ever wanted since coming to Westport. My whole agenda was to keep my head down, feed myself, and pay the rent on time. Lieutenant Blair had offered me a job, Barclay had offered me a million dollars to solve all of his problems, and Flynn had offered me an everlasting life as his paramour.
Call me a cynic, but I had a difficult time considering any of their motivations altruistic. Perhaps if they’d spend more time talking to my face instead of my boobs, I might have taken them more seriously.
After the Hunter had died in Westport, along with two known representatives of the Order of the Illuminati, I hoped the attention would decrease. It didn’t.
Three of my friends, who I nick-named Three Mouseketeers in my head, had a business called Lost and Found. They found things, and people, for a price. When they came into the bar later that evening, I could tell they hadn’t had a good day. Jolene trudged over to the bar, and it looked as though she used the last of her strength to pull herself up onto the barstool. Trevor and Josh didn’t look much better—dirty and sweaty and dragging their feet from exhaustion. I thought I detected some bruises under the dirt, and Josh definitely had a pair of long scratches on the side of his neck.
Luckily, they always ordered the same drinks, so I poured their favorites without even asking for their orders. Jolene picked up her shot and downed it, then followed it with a deep slug of her Guinness.
“Rough day?” I asked.
She gave me a bleary-eyed look and said, “You don’t know even the half of it.”
“A shifter’s kid went missing,” Trevor said, taking a long pull on his black-and-tan. “His mom was frantic when she called us, and we’ve been out all day looking for him.”
Something in his eyes told me things hadn’t turned out well. I waited.
“Son of a bitch sacrificed the kid and then ate him,” Jolene said, then gulped some more of her beer.
I tried to think of something to say to that, but nothing came. I stood there and blinked at them like an idiot. My stomach did a flip-flop every time I re-ran what she said through my mind. Finally, I managed to ask, “Who?”
“Some asshole who fancies himself a black sorcerer,” Josh said, draining his glass and slamming it down on the bar. I didn’t even ask if he wanted another, and I made it a double. “He was trying to call a demon.”
“You caught him?” I asked.
All three nodded. “Turned him and his vampire buddy over to the pack,” Trevor said. “Their names don’t matter.” In other words, no one was ever going to see them again, and the less I knew, the better off everyone was.
Trevor was an electrokinetic, Josh was a pyromancer, and Jolene was a finder—she had mixed witch-mage magic like me, although our talents were wildly different. I was surprised the sorcerer and vamp survived long enough for the pack to get their paws on them. Josh had a temper, and I could easily imagine him incinerating the miscreants.
I thought about the kid, and then decided I needed a drink, too. A double. It burned all the way down, but seemed to kill the urge to throw up.
“Thank you so much for coming in and telling me about that,” I said.