My Name Is Death

The inside of Fangtasia was a sorry sight. Well, to you, at least. The sharp contrast of red on black was enough to give anyone a headache, and made you seriously question why anyone in their right mind would ever come there. Of course, its patrons probably weren’t all right in the head.

Every once in a while a strobe light would brighten the otherwise moody lighting, an occurrence that made you very uneasy. You narrowed your eyes as much as you could without closing them completely and shuffled your way through the slowly growing crowd over to the bar. You might as well get a drink and let yourself settle into the atmosphere before you went in search of Alan to drag him out. Taking a seat at one of the stools, most of which were still vacant, you tapped your fingers impatiently on the counter before craning your neck to find any sign of life. Or unlife. Whatever. “Uh, bartender?” you huffed slightly. “Paying customer here.” You lowered your voice into a sarcastic mumble. “As much as I’d love to spend the whole night here—”

A gruff voice sounded off from behind you. “Yes?”

Jesus, you thought, jumping slightly in your seat as the short, fat owner of said voice made his way around the bar. Dressed in an all white suit, he looked a bit ridiculous to you. And he was rather ugly for a vampire, with a smushed face and a sleazy expression. Well, all vampires had some sense of sleaze about them; you supposed they couldn’t help it, but it annoyed you just the same. “Can I get a beer?” you asked flatly.

The bartender nodded curtly and grumbled the price before reaching beneath the bar and setting a skinny bottle down in front of you. You nodded in thanks and pulled a few crumpled bills from Alan’s jacket pocket (because he’d made you come all the way out there, he could pay for your drink) and set them down on the counter. Without waiting for the bartender to collect his cash, you spun around and surveyed your surroundings more thoroughly.

Fangtasia’s customers and staff really were an odd bunch. There were people dressed in leather, in vinyl, in spiky collars, in everything a sane person wouldn’t wear in public. There were vampires dancing on top of the tables, moving so fast that they occasionally appeared to flash from one position to the next. That did nothing for your headache (a tiny, nagging throb at the base of your skull that was just enough to bug you but not enough to actually hurt: one of the worst kind) so you quickly averted your eyes and focused on other “charming” aspects of the place. To the side of the club, there was an empty, ornate chair on a platform above everything else.

You also noticed several other things, such as a woman who, as far as you knew, had lunch at Merlotte’s every day and left very lousy tips, and the grumpy old man that ran the gas station nearest your house. What you didn’t notice was your brother. Or Emma, whom you personally blamed for the entire ordeal. They weren’t anywhere in the club. The only places out of your line of site were the insides of the restrooms, so you sighed, took a swig of beer, and leaned back against the bar. You were going to enjoy your damn beer before you took the chance of walking in on your brother and the neighbor girl in a compromising position.

The thought of embarrassing your brother was enough to pull the corners of your mouth up into a tiny smile, and the thought of the lecture he would get if your parents ever found out about his sex before marriage, regardless of his age, was enough to turn that ghost of a smile into a huge grin.

It didn’t take long for your grin to subside, and your mood melted back to black as the minutes ticked by. The club was filling up now, and you looked around again, paying more attention to the new arrivals and trying to tune out the screechy metal song that was blaring over the speakers. So far all the music had been stressful on your ears and altogether unappealing. You just didn’t understand the attraction of this place. You scowled, coming to the last sip of your beer, and made to turn back around to order another one.

You stopped short for a moment. The chair, or, for lack of a better word, throne, was no longer empty—a man, who you could tell was both tall and lean even though he was sitting down, was lounging in it, looking extremely bored. You had to admit, he was beautiful, what with his perfect facial structure and neatly combed back blonde hair. Even with his dark-ringed eyes and white, white skin, he was beautiful. He exuded sexuality… what you wouldn’t like to do with him…

You averted your eyes, mentally kicking yourself. Someone like that was probably the very essence of arrogance, and well, that was the type of person you always found yourself losing your temper with. Not to mention he was probably flaming—didn’t all vampires want to bang guys? You’d not heard of most of them discriminating against either gender, though… But he did look ridiculous, sitting up there, acting all important and shit. It reminded you of first grade, when you didn’t have enough smaller chairs in your class and had to borrow a slightly bigger one from the upper grades, and then your classmates would all argue on the playground about who would sit in the sixth grader’s chair that day. Ohohoho, I’m King of the Rock! I get the big kid’s chair! You turned all the way back to the bar, seething, and felt your shorts’ pocket vibrate.

Had there been any beer left in your bottle, you would have slopped it down yourself. Fortunately, you didn’t, and yanked your cell phone out of your pocket. There was one new text, from your brother. “Couldn’t get in,” it read. “c u @ the house.”

Again, you were so made that you couldn’t breathe, and slammed the empty bottle, your cell phone, and another handful of Alan’s money down onto the counter. “Well, give me another one,” you ordered impatiently.

The bartender narrowed his eyes at you, and for a moment looked as if he was going to kill you right then and there for your insolence. However, something past you caught his eye, and he nodded swiftly before turning his attention back to you and gesturing for you to turn around as well.

You did so with a sigh of irritation, and saw the bouncer standing smugly next to the man in the chair. He was studying you with a slightly intrigued look on his face, and with a quick motion of his hand beckoned you over to him.

You were caught off guard for a moment, both by his unnerving stare and the fact that he had just waved you over to him. But you had no intention of accommodating him, and with a frown turned back to the bar.

“Go,” the bartender ordered, pulling the beer he had gotten out for you out of your reach before you could make a decent grab for it.

You let out an angry huff. Fine, you thought, gritting your teeth and barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes right out of your head. I’ll go over. But I had better get my fucking beer when I come back. You trudged through the crowd, trying to avoid as much sweat and grit as you possibly could, and planted your feet squarely in front of the blonde’s chair, put your hands on your hips, and glared defiantly up at him. “So, what the hell are you supposed to be?”

His interest flickered to displeasure and his eyes narrowed at you. The bouncer’s fangs came down with a hiss.

You said nothing, simply cocked your head to the side as if to say, “Wow, I’m sooo scared,” to prove that you didn’t mind their discontent in the least. To be honest, deep down under all your stubbornness and pride, you were terrified. Terrified, as in piss-your-pants-and-faint-from-fright fucking terrified. But you were not going to let them know that.

The blonde put out a hand to his bouncer to silence her and then leaned toward you a little, his other hand resting under his chin and supported by his elbow on the armrest. “Now that was a very rude thing to say…” he said seductively, in an accent so slight that you couldn’t quite place it, his glacial blue eyes boring relentlessly into yours. “Perhaps you would like to apologize?...”

You felt the pull of his voice ebbing at your senses, found yourself unable to look away from him, unable to move, and for a moment you wanted nothing more in this world or any other than to have even the slightest opportunity to fling yourself at his feet and beg for his forgiveness, because if you did, everything would be alright, nothing bad could ever happen to you again… and then that sharp, stabbing pain found its way back into its old hiding spot in the deepest corner of your brain and forced you to break your gaze.

You gasped and flung your hand to back of your head, pressing on the old scar tissue as if it would ease the pain, and some foggy piece of your consciousness still screamed at you to kneel down and kiss his feet—you had wronged him so much with your comment… but the pain in your head was getting even stronger and when it felt like your brain was mashed to shreds with a razor sharp whisk, you snapped out of your daze and realized what he was doing.

“Maybe you ought to apologize for what you just tried to do to me,” you hissed furiously as the stabbing in your head eased up a fraction of a little bit. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

His eyes stayed narrow but a small smile now played at the corners of his mouth. “Now that is very interesting.”

You huffed, still massaging the back of your skull. “Well, I’m thrilled to have provided you with some form of quality entertainment,” you snorted, gesturing to his lovely establishment as if it was the complete opposite of quality. Which it was. At any rate, you were over this, you wanted out. “I paid for my beer, can I go drink it now?”

The blonde jerked his head to the side and the bartender was suddenly next to you, putting the full, icy cold beer in your free hand. Then he was gone. You stared stupidly at your beer for a moment and then took a sip.

“Now,” the blonde vampire said with a finality that made it clear that you weren’t going anywhere for a good while. “What is your name?”

“Leona Mason,” you told him. “Why?”

“You interest me.” His answer was blunt and the polar opposite of helpful. The bouncer grinned next to him, exposing her pearly, elongated incisors.

Oh wow, that was informative, you thought, rolling your eyes and not even trying to hide it. “I don’t see how.”

“Well, what you have just—”

He cut himself off and in an instant both he and his bouncer were standing up and making themselves as menacing as possible, glaring and hissing over your head.

The hair on the back of your neck stood straight and prickly and you whirled around a split second before you heard the shot. Eyes wide, you caught a glimpse of the nervous looking young man from outside in the line clutching a smoking gun for dear life and pointing it above your head before you felt the searing pain tear through your chest and knock you stumbling backwards, your legs unable to hold you any longer.