Midnight at the Blue Agave

or All the Damn Vampires

The parking lot of the Blue Agave was just as wet and cracked as it had been when Jen had gotten off her first shift three years ago. The bar manager then, Luiz, had said the owner would get that fixed next month. Now that she had taken his place, she had a feeling “next month” would never come.

Cool air bit through her thin, black, ripped jeans and Misfits tee-shirt. The only part of her that was warm were her feet, encased as they were in 18-hole, black leather Doc Martens. She held the metal cylinder of the kubaton in her right fist. Its two spikes poked out on either side of her middle finger. She sorted through her keys with her left hand. Once she found her truck key, she pinched it between thumb and forefinger of her fist. Only then, did she pull the metal tube full of bear spray from its holster on her purse and start the long walk across poorly lit asphalt.

She’d never needed to use both self-defense pieces at the same time, but her dad had taught her to always be prepared to defend yourself from multiple attackers. A part time krav maga teacher and cop, Dad knew what he was talking about, and it was far from the only lesson he’d taught her. When she saw the lanky, all too pale stranger leaning against her truck, she knew neither of her precautions would be particularly useful. She was glad for the crucifix around her neck.

The man levered himself up off the hood of the Bondo and primer-covered Ford 1970’s era F-350 and bared his fangs at Jen. “You’re late.”

“It’s bad manners to drool,” Jen snarked at him. “And I can’t help that I had a busy night and lost track of time.” Truthfully, she had no idea what he was talking about. She had no truck with vamps. At least she hadn’t since Philly, and that had been back in the early twenty-‘teens.

“Not what I meant.” He looked down her body meaningfully. “I’ve been stalking you for a while and was waiting for your next cycle.”

“Well that’s... disgusting.” Both the stalking and the idea that this thing found her menses appetizing. “What’s your name?”

“What’s my na-?” He chuckled as though he couldn’t believe the question. He licked his lips and considered. “I suppose I can answer a question or two before I make a meal of you. Call me Eli.”

Photo by Patrick Pahlke on Unsplash

She holstered her bear spray, so she’d keep a hand free. Undead eyes probably weren’t affected by capsicum. “Okay, Eli. Interesting to meet you. I don’t consent to being eaten. Especially not if it will end in my premature demise.” She took mental stock of the things she had access to. The pump shotgun under her seat was fully loaded with buckshot. Maybe that would remove a limb. There was the wooden baseball bat behind the bench seat which could be used as a stake if it was broken off. There might be some garlic salt in one of the empty pizza boxes in the floorboard. Would that work? She knew many theoretical things about vampires, but they tended to be closed mouthed about what was fact and what was fiction. The few she had talked to at all had other things on their minds.

“Consent isn’t needed.” Eli took a step closer.

“Just like a man." She put her thumb under the small gold cross, the tiny man affixed to it weeping at this whole affair, and presented it strongly. As if she were her brother’s character in their old D&D game. It glinted as if lit from a stray star.

Eli hissed, this time the sound one of pain as a small crosshatch of light appeared on his cheek. There was no puff of smoke, but he stopped coming. “That won’t save you.”

She kept presenting the cross as she circled towards the door of her truck. “Maybe not, but it’s keeping you at more than an arm’s length, creep.”

“I don’t have to kill you, you know.” The words hinted at pain and… Was that a bit of a whine she detected?

She almost dropped the cross against her skin in indignation. “You expect me to let you drink from me after you admitted to stalking me? I don’t think so.” One thing she knew from personal experience was being vamp chow was soporific for humans. It could even be euphoric under the right circumstances. Regardless, it would put her in a bad spot.

“Not even a little?” His eyes flicked to her left.

It was the briefest of motions, but she ducked and rolled toward the cover of her vehicle. Something whistled through the air where she had been standing. She had never let go of the hold on her key and turned all her focus on that lock. The key went in and turned before she felt the fingers brush her shoulder. She knew she would never escape his grip so she fell to her back and rolled backwards between his legs. That put her in a perfect spot to lash out with both booted feet into his ass. Stronger than a human or not, he didn’t weigh any more than he should and smashed into her truck.

Not waiting to see what, if any effect that had, she rolled to one side to look for the other threat. A second stranger, this one a woman, waited near the rear tire of her vehicle. Jen leapt to her feet and dove for the truck door. Wrenching it open, she slid in and slammed the door closed with every ounce of her weight, strength, and every bit of momentum. There was a loud crack and a screech.

Eli stood outside her door, his fanged maw flinging spittle at the glass. He reminded her a little of that picture of the Bat Boy she’d always seen in the supermarket checkout aisle. His eyes bulged in pain and rage and his teeth hyperextended almost like a shark’s.

The door wouldn’t shut all the way and there was no way she was going to open it even a crack to let his trapped fingers go. It was clumsy, but she was able to reach under the seat with her right hand and scrabble for the shotgun. It was secure in the scabbard attached underneath the passenger side of the bench seat. She always kept a round in the chamber so there was no need to pump the action. She brought it up level with the window and pulled the trigger.

The boom in the enclosed space made her ears ring and glass exploded outward. Unfortunately, the bastard had ducked. But as he scrabbled backward, she saw the buckshot had scalped him. The injury would have at least incapacitated a mortal. This thing would likely heal to the point where you’d never know it had been shot, given enough time and blood.

She turned and was about to start the engine when she realized her keys were still dangling from the lock. Her hand felt the outside of the door and they weren’t there.

Eli crouched about ten feet away with the keys dangling from his hand. “You can’t kill me with that. All you can do is mess me up. And you aren’t going anywhere soon.”

While he talked, Jen made sure the door was closed and locked. She also made sure the woman was still in place by her tailgate. She didn’t show in the rearview mirror, but she was there, nonetheless. Waiting.

“So, I’ll mess you up. And I’ll use my cross to keep you at bay. Looks like your Mistress there isn’t going to help.” As Jen talked, she slid towards the other door and racked another shell into place. The empty hit the roof and bounced onto her dash. She reached down and felt among the detritus on her floorboard. When her hand found the shaker, she was never as glad to be an Italian food junkie as she was now. She thumbed open the pour spout and dumped a good quarter cup down the short barrel.

“I’m gonna kill you slow, and your blood will heal my wounds.” He stalked forward after tucking her keys in his jeans pocket.

Shit, that would make retrieving them hard. She held the shotgun and braced until the last possible moment. She wanted him in the cab with her if possible. Winging him wouldn't be enough.

He grabbed the door and wrenched it, not bothering with the lock. The metal protested, but the mechanism broke. He didn’t manage to rip the door off, but it would never close properly again. It was as if he was repaying the insult of the truck biting his hand. He stood there for a moment, waiting for the shot to come. The streetlight glinted off a blood-slicked skull already re-covering itself with skin and hair. There was a pockmark or two where pellets had imprinted bone.

She had a moment to wonder if those would heal too before he climbed onto the bench seat, licking his teeth.

He reached for her leg, chuckling.

At that moment, she pulled the trigger. The explosion of sound wasn’t quite as bad as the last time. With one door open, the pressure wave had somewhere to go. The shot grouping and a huge plume of white powder hit him mostly in the chest. The inside of her truck smelled like gunpowder, blood, and burning garlic.

Eli screamed, a bubbling roar. The impact at this close range punched him back, but he caught himself on the steering wheel. With his free hand, he clawed at his shirt as though it were on fire.

She watched in horrified fascination as the blackened skin beneath bubbled and dripped as if assaulted by acid. God, it reminded her of burning mozzarella. She was never going to be able to eat pizza again.

He coughed up something black and fetid and tried to speak, but bubbles popped on his lips. He swiped weakly at his face and smeared the gunk all over his lips and cheek.

Jen lifted the leg he had tried to grab and drew it back, launching a hard kick at the same place she’d shot him. There was a loud snapping sound and another bubbling scream as he fell backward and hit the ground like a sack of smoking shit. Racking another shell into the chamber, she swiveled her head and looked for the woman. She was nowhere to be seen.

“Back to the bar. I can go back to the bar and lock myself in.” Putting actions to words, she clambered out of the truck, keeping her head on a swivel. Not seeing any threat or any much-needed help, she grabbed the kubaton still sticking out of Eli’s pocket and jerked the keyring free. Denim ripped and she ran for the door, making sure to stomp on Eli’s chest once before running on.

He howled at her back, but she heard no sounds of pursuit.

She didn’t make the mistake of looking behind her. If the woman was giving chase, Jen was well and truly fucked. She got to the door and unlocked it with practiced ease, thankful for the muscle memory overcoming any panic. Strangely, there wasn’t as much fear as she thought there would be. Maybe she would fall apart later. Then again, it was hardly her first firefight or her first tangle with things that went bump in the night. Could be vampires weren’t as badass as she’d been led to believe.

Clicking the locks shut behind her, she passed through the little kitchen. Passing through the swinging doors to the bar, she saw the raven-haired beauty who had been lurking behind her truck earlier.

“Shit.” There might not have been any point, but she brought the shotgun to bear on her lone customer.

“You can put that away.” The voice was low and a little breathy. What looked like the glint of a laser pointer flashed in one eye.

Her hands moved of their own accord as Jen lowered the shotgun and placed it on the nearby bar. It seemed like a much better idea for some reason.

“Why don’t you pour yourself a drink?” The woman’s voice retained that same breathy quality.

Drinking with this woman who had watched Jen be attacked by a vampire, and who was likely one herself, now sounded like a good idea. She stepped behind the bar and poured herself two fingers of the best mezcal she had, on the rocks. After a sip of the smoky, grassy liquor, she narrowed her eyes. “Shouldn’t I have needed to invite you in?”

“This isn’t your house, is it?” The breathy quality was gone now, but her voice was still a husky alto.

“No, though god knows I spend more time here some days than I do at home.” She sipped at the mezcal again and shivered. Tired as fuck, drinking cold liquor was confusing her body. Right now, she would usually be in a warm, if empty, bed.

“There’s your answer. I don’t need to be invited into public houses or inns or other places of commerce. As old as I am, even some homes aren’t safe.” She sipped at her own drink, a twenty-five-year-old scotch if Jen’s nose was any judge.

“So, now that we’re here drinking all cozy-like, and your man is out there bleeding or whatever, what’s going to happen to me?” Jen swirled the ice in her glass, letting it dilute the liquor a bit. She glanced over at the shotgun but picking it up still seemed pointless. Had the woman controlled her? Or was it common sense?

“I suppose that’s a bit up in the air, isn’t it?” She tapped her glass with a fingernail. “I’m not angry that you injured my child. He was overconfident, and it will take him nights to heal. A lesson learned the hard way is often learned for good. He won’t be able to get up and walk around until I give him some of my blood to heal. So, you won’t have to worry about him interrupting us. I’m Lilly, by the way.”

Jen held out her hand. “Good to meet you.” She wasn’t surprised when the handshake was like gripping a marble statue. “I’m Jen.”

“You knew what he was, what we are. You knew as soon as you saw him. How?” Her immaculately shaped raven eyebrow quirked up.

“It’s not my first turn with the supernatural. It was my first time seeing a couple of your sort, but Dad taught me what to look out for.” Jen finished her drink.

“What’s your last name, Jen?” It was Lilly’s turn for the narrow gaze.

“Morris. My family has had a few run-ins with vampires. My great-great grandad Quincey helped kill Vlad Dracul.” She smiled as she watched the light dawn in Lilly’s eyes. That’s when Jen hit the switch underneath the bar. UV lights came on all over the place. Lighting it up like the noonday sun.

Lilly hissed and threw up her arms as if to ward it off. Her skin didn’t blacken and begin to peel, but Jen knew better than to expect that. It would serve as a good distraction and should take the edge off Lilly’s powers.

Jen grabbed the five-foot length of sharpened wood from under the bar and rammed it home beneath Lilly’s left breast. A cross beam a third of the way up its length would prevent her from clawing her way up the wood. If she was truly old enough, the wood might not kill her right away.

Lilly screeched and her skin began to tighten. She looked like she was beginning to transform into something.

“Shit, no. Can’t have that.” She grabbed one more thing from under the bar, before letting go of the wooden pole long enough to slide across the wooden surface and grab the spear again. She drove Lilly to the ground.

“You will let me-” There was that breathy rasp.

Jen hit Lilly in the mouth with the knuckle duster hand guard on her Bowie knife. It bloodied the vampire’s lips, if you could call the black smear blood, and chipped her fangs. Mostly, it shut her up.

“No, I won’t.” She laid the blade across Lilly’s neck and pressed down while slicing with every ounce of her strength. It was like riding a bucking bronco. Lilly knew what was happening. It was what had happened to her kin in Transylvania over a hundred years ago. Only, Vlad had been wiser. It hadn’t helped him in the end, though.

As the metal blade bit into the wooden floor, Lilly’s ashy skull rolled away. Jen panted and tried not to collapse on the pile of bones she now straddled. After a few seconds, she released the pool cue cum stake and rolled away from the new/old corpse, Bowie still held firmly in one hand. Lilly had said her boy wasn’t getting up, but those things lied like breathing. She stared up into the bright lights, trying to gather the strength to walk back out into the parking lot for the second time that night. She had to kill her second vampire and then clean up this damnable mess.

“All this and I have a new shift in about twelve hours.” She climbed to her feet and started to fix a pot of coffee. It was going to be a long night.