The vampire is a creature of habit.
That was a lesson Hannibal taught him on his first proper hunt. That even monsters still had their routines. If vampires only cared about devouring humankind in the most efficient way possible, most of the country would be overrun in a couple of months by hordes of ghouls and newly Turned. No, instead, they had peeves and wonts about how they went about it. Traditions and rituals were passed down from each new generation of vampire and with every passing century, as humanity progressed, so did their palette. The Nosferati had entire ‘vinyards’ dedicated to fermenting blood into red wine. The Adze preferred congealing the blood into curds. The Yuki Onna adopted the tradition of ikizukiri - drinking humans slowly while they were still alive.
It was that singular characteristic, that weakness which had been exploited by better vampire slayers than him for centuries. So, when the trail led to yet another fishmonger this month, Eric almost could feel Hannibal berating him mentally for not spotting the obvious yet again and believing that vampires were more rational than they actually were.
It was the break of afternoon in New Orleans, when the sun began to nest in the Pontchartrain. Its orange rays bled down the dappled surface, the skyline bruised a hazy violet. It was at this hour when the French Quarter started to become alive, beating with the rhythm of jazz and dance - the oxygen of the Orient pumping and flowing through the streets from Chalamette to Jefferson. Yet, for where the music could not be heard, it casted shadows of silence across the Mississippi, where the brown waters bubbled and festered as it always had throughout the course of its thousand mile journey. And in that silence dwelled the coming night: ravenous in its zest for life.
He’d been tracking a pack of new arrivals for a month now - ten to twenty strong. They’d made their presence on the westside of Uptown, far away from the territories of other sects and the CBD where the NOPD strutted around like flamingos. The scent of the Great Lakes was smeared all over them - alpine smog and the dewy aroma of pine needles that followed in their wake. He pegged them as Krieger - maybe an Anchorite but most Anchorites preferred to stay in their wheat fields and little prariers. He had been watching them for the last few days, under the disguise of plain sight and from a fair distance as they skittered from the Garden District to the Quarter, playing themselves off as tourists. Eventually, that led him to where he was standing right now.
The Trawler was a squat olive drab block in a sparsely populated neighbourhood that was accommodated by overdebted university students and old-timers who were too fond of the past to move on. There was only a single pane of glass for the average onlooker to look at the product inside. Styrofoam boxes laid in an undignified pile near the front door with an overflowing trash bin as its neighbour, bones and fish guts attracting a horde of flies.
The bell jingled, alerting the shopkeeper who was busy wiping the counter with a stained dish cloth as Eric entered the shop.
“ Hey, buddy. Store’s closed. If you have an order, you’ll have to pick it up tomorrow.“ The fishmonger slapped his hand on the counter loudly to catch his attention. Eric ignored it, continuing to parse throughout the store, stopping to look at the rows of redfish and perch that were on display on beds of ice. Their rheumy eyes stared up at him, almost pleadingly. “ You awrite in the head, man? If you don’t leave here now, I’m going to have to call the cops on you.”
Eric turned around and lowered his shades to take a better look. He took a look at the plastic name tag on his apron, with “Barry” written in flowery cursive.
“ So….” Eric drawled as he walked closer towards Barry who was shrinking with each step he took. “ Would you believe me if I said this was a surprise inspection?”
Barry’s right shoulder shifted, warily reaching his left hand somewhere under the counter. He signed. It always seemed how things always seemed to end in his line of business.
“ Damn. That’s a shame.”
In one swift practiced motion, Barry pulled out the Mossenberg from underneath the register, barrel swiveling towards him. Were he dealing with any common human, the fishmonger would have put him in the morgue by now. Unfortunately for him, dhampir reflexes meant that the shopkeeper was moving like molasses. Eric shot his hand forward towards where Barry gripped the shotgun by the stock and jammed his thumb between the trigger and the index finger. The barrel was aimed at Eric’s forehead but all the fishmonger could feel was his index finger pushing down on the trigger uselessly. Eric ripped itout of the fishmonger’s hand and tossed it away, sending it clattering to the floor. The fishmonger’s face was now paper-white, his body frozen like a statue and paralyzed in fear.
“ You - you’re the - the - “
“ Don’t say another word.” Eric lifted the collar of the butcher’s smock upwards to reveal his neck. It was thick, succulent with flowing, rich blood that just begged to be - Eric paused and shook his head as he mustered his concentration, turning his neck to the other side. His nostrils flared in disgust when he saw a cherry-red brand on his collarbone. It was in the shape of four vertical lines cut in half by a horizontal one.
“ Now, listen here and listen good, familiar.” He hissed with contempt, the tips of his canines reflected in the fishmonger’s eyes. “ You’re going to walk out of this shop and call emergency services 30 minutes from now. If you dare call the police after I let you go, I will take this shotgun and ram it so far up your ass that you’ll go through puberty again, do I make myself clear?”
“ I had no - you can’t - They’ll hunt me down.” The fishmonger blubbered, eyes fidgeting anxiously. “ They’ll kill me. My master - URK!”
His speech stopped mid-way courtesy of a steel vice grip around his throat . The vampire slayer lifted him up a inch of the ground, his feet dangling uselessly in the air.
“ Only thing you gotta worry ‘bout is me hunting your sorry ass down.” He continued on, impassive to how Barry’s face was slowly becoming more red by the second. “ Now, you promise to not associate yourself with any unholy heathens from now on?”
“ Urgh.”
“ You promise to not seek out immortality through immoral means?”
“ Urghuh.”
“ You promise to pray to your lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”
“ Urgh?”
“ Nah, I’m just shitting you with the last one.” The fishmonger was then unceremoniously dropped to the ground. As he laid on the ground, heaving for precious air, Eric craned his neck down towards him and looked at him as if he were an insect.
“Now, scram. I’ve got work to do. ”
The trick to finding a secret hideout was to double check, triple check, quadruple check and then, repeat the process all over again. Busting in, unannounced, would alert every bloodsucker that was lurking down here. Eric glumly dropped the halibut he was holding on the ground with a wet flop. He’d spent the last five minutes turning over tables, sifting through icebeds and checking through cupboards with nothing to show for it.
So, where would a career fishmonger hide the entrance to a vampire hideout?
The only thing worthy of note in the shop was the oil painting hung almost out of view behind the cash register. To the layman, it looked like an ordinary photo of a ship port but with what little education Jamal provided him, Eric could make out the distinct shape of wood galleys and men in tricorns planting a red, white and bleu striped flag. It was a tribute to the founding of New Orleans but without the sordid past of bondage that many had tried to glamourize. Eric lifted the picture off the hook and a dusty flip switch was there, underneath caked grime and dust.
“Bingo.” He flicked it and heard an almost audible click from one of the cupboard shelves behind the counter. He pushed it open, air rushing out from the damp and musty staircase. Frost was lacquered onto the cold walls. Eric pulled out his penlight, the wooden stairs creaking with each step he took, and shone the beam, illuminating the inside of the basement. There was a faint buzzing in the back of his brain, not enough to hamper his concentration as he passed the beam back and forth through the room, but enough to make his hairs stand on edge. He didn’t know what to call it but supernatural shit always gave him an allergic reaction of sorts, especially if it was the dark kind. He pulled back the freezer door, the rusty gears groaning like cracking bones, and the sight he saw revolted him to the core.
Bodies. Dozens of them hung upside down on angler hooks naked. There were dark gouges on the sides of their neck with buckets placed underneath their bodies. Ichor still trickled down the neck of one, hitting the bottom of the bucket with dull plinks. Their belongings were all piled together in a misshapen mound on the right side of the room with valuables such as jewelry and wallets divided into a separate one.
It wasn’t just the work of some rabid serial killer. It was a rogue vampire infestation right in the heart of Uptown. The bloodsuckers had been feasting on the periphery, right under his nose. He clenched his fist, a cold fury brewing up inside him. Blaming himself wouldn’t bring them back. The only thing that could pay back blood was more blood in return, and he’d make sure to pay back that debt in full for these people.
He whispered a prayer, one Jamal had taught him. He didn’t know a word of Xhosa but the intent was all that mattered. All he knew was that there wasn’t enough space to fit everyone here on tomorrow’s obituary nor did he have enough ‘tang on him to burn down all the bodies here.
“ Hello?”
Eric perked his head up. Did he just imagine it? He heard another faint ‘hello’ again, coming down further deep from within one of the other refrigeration units.
“ Hello? Is anyone there? ” His straw hair was uncombed and his blue eyes looked . There was a sniffle as he shrank back further into the corner of the cage. “ P-please don’t take me away. Are you with the bad woman? I didn’t do anything wrong. I kept quiet like you asked me too - “
“ Whoa, easy now. I ain’t no bloodsucker, kid.” Eric crouched down and placed the flashlight on the ground gently. “ What’s your name?”
“ Frank. Frank Drake.”
“ Is there anyone else with you?”
“ I don’t know.” Frank’s eyes deadened as he began to stammer once more. “ They told me if I…..if I said anything else, they’d cut off my toes one by one like they did to - “
“ Hey, look at me. Look at me.” Eric repeated again with a little more hardness in his voice to catch Frank’s attention. “ That’s enough of that right now. All I want you to think about now is getting out of here alive and a po’boy in your hands in one hour from now.”
“ You promise?” Frank said ,squinting at him as if he was a mirage of his imagination.
Eric said nothing at first before reaching his hand through the cage. Frank recognised the gesture and slowly shook the arm of the strange man in a trenchcoat.
“ I promise.” He stood back up. “Alright, you might wanna stand back.”
Eric gripped the bars of the cage. The cold metal was scalding on his skin. He looked at the bare feet of the kid and the shuddering mist that came out of his mouth with every breath he took. How long had he been here for? He put aside the question for later. Freedom took first priority. Frank became bug-eyed as he watched the industrial steel bars pried open like taffy Once Eric made a wide enough gap, the boy tentatively stepped out.
“ ‘S cold.. ” He spoke, teeth chattering.
“ Hey, put this on.” Eric took off his trenchcoat and gently fitted Frank’s wiry arms through the oversized sleeves. At the end, it looked as though the kid was swaddled in a blanket, hugging the leather against himself tightly. “Feel better now?”
Frank nodded in reply, signs of a smile on his dimpled cheeks.
“ C’mon, kid, we better get moving before they find us.” Eric then saw Frank’s eyes widen as he looked over his shoulder. Twirling around and pulling out a derringer from his belt, ready to fire, he stopped mid-way as he saw a pack of ten vampires grinning hungrily at them. One vampire stepped out, wearing a beanie on his head, with a peppery patch of stubble covering his pale chin. He dragged his cigar he was smoking over his lips before speaking in a rumbling tone.
“ Well, well, well, look who have here, men. A little mortal’s come to play the hero - “ The vampire stopped speaking, a look of realization spreading across his face as he took a step back. His astonishment quickly curdled into disgust. “ It’s…...you.......”
Anxious chatter broke out amongst their ranks, Eric’s ears perking as he made out frightened mutterings and gossip spread like wildfire.
“ The Daywalker.”
“ I thought he was just a myth.”
“ Oh man, oh man, we’re so screwed.”
Eric levered an arm towards Frank, pulling on him gently to hide behind his back. Frank pointed a finger towards one of them, a female vampire with auburn hair dressed in a bomber jacket and military fatigues. The bottoms of her eyelids were marked with striped black points, making her look somewhat feral.
“ That’s her. The one who kidnapped me.”
“ Blade!” One of them snarled out the name which had plagued vampire kind for two decades. His lips were peeled back, baring fangs that glistened with saliva. “ You dare rob us of our quarry, half-breed? You’ll pay for your - “
“ Leave us, Charlie.” The female vampire spoke cooly and the entire horde fell silent. Charles, Charlie, whatever the name of that fucking vampire was, looked at her doubtfully.
“ Nina - “ One single look from her was all it took to gum his lips up. He scuttled away, head bowed low, acquiescing, but not before shooting him a baleful look.
“ I apologize for my lieutenant’s demeanour. We should not talk of our kin, even if they are dhampyrs, in such a manner.” She put both of her hands up placatingly whilst staring cautiously at the small pistol in his hand. “ Please, there is no such need for hostilities. My men will not attack if you put away your piece.”
“ How do I know I ain’t being punked right now?”
“ You’ll have to take your chances. And besides….” She lengthened her arms to the side, palms facing forward and gesturing towards the horde of hungry vampires behind her. “ We outnumber you thirty to one. Do you truly think you stand a chance against us?”
“ Don’t know. I’d ask the same question to all of you.”
“ Every drop of vampire blood spilled is a waste. Return our meal and we will forgive you for your trangressio - “
“ Frank.”
“ What?”
“ His. Name. Is. Frank.” He punctuated each word for emphasis. “ Long as I draw breath, you freaks ain’t touching a single hair on his head.”
“Placing so much value on the lives of cattle…….. “ She scoffed. “Tell me, why does a being like you deign yourself to walk amongst these animals? Do they ever give you respect? Recognition? Reward?”
“ It’s not about that.”
“ Isn’t it tiring to keep making excuses for them? To keep making excuses for yourself? Why deny your baser urges?” Her lips parted into a rickshaw grin of debauchery as she saw his hands tremble slightly at the glistening drop of blood on her finger. “ Tell me, how long has it been since you last fed?”
“ Went to the blood bank yesterday for some rum and O negative.” Eric spoke, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Yet, the words had an effect on him. He felt that thirst rising again, his tongue begging to lap up the red, that succulent ambrosia that dwelled in all humans.
“ You know what I mean.” She began stepping closer towards him, stopping until she was an arm’s length away. “ Stale blood doesn’t have the same warmth as live blood. Haven’t you ever wondered what it tastes like?”
“ Why deny who you truly are? To deny something as primal and essential as your hunger. All it takes is one taste and I - we can show you a world of unending delights. Tell me, Blade. What is it you thirst for most? “
“ Stake.”
“ What?” Nina’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“ I said - “
Nina blinked and looked down. Her mouth opened in a noiseless scream as she saw Eric’s arm burrowed under her ribcage
“ - Stake.” He wrenched out the stake and a brackish spray of blood followed, splashing onto his skin. Nina pawed at the gaping hole, clutching at what remained of her heart as if it were a broken vase. There were a hundred wordless curses in that glare she sent his way. Her then face became slack and her hands dangled to the sides like a puppet with its strings cut. The hate still smouldered in her lifeless eyes, even as her flesh began disintegrating into milky smoke and her bones crumbled to saltpeter.
Only when he dropped the stake on the ground did it seem to break the serenity of silence that Nina’s death had caused.
“ Get on, kid.” Wordlessly, Frank scrambled onto his shoulders, all whilst bearing a severe look of doubt at his savior’s sanity. “ Hang on tight and close your eyes. Things are ‘bout to get hairy.”
He then pulled out a sword strapped onto his back, more a block of metal than a proper blade. Four feet of inch-thick blessed sliver glittered in the darkness. He held it out vertically in a duelist’s stance, mouth tightened in a grim smirk.
“ So, which one of you fucks wants to dance first?"“ KILL THE DAYWALKER!”
As the horde rushed towards him in a frenzy, Eric signed inwardly as he realised one thing that was almost certain at the end of this long night.
Laundry night was going to be a bitch.
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