Love Song for a Vampire: Dale Bruyer, #2

By J.L. Aarne

Dale Bruyer kills bad things that go bump in the night, or at least he used to. Now he owns a bar in small town Louisiana. True, it has become a hang-out for the same creatures he used to hunt down, but they tip in gold and diamonds, so he can't really complain.

 

He's retired (sort of) and out of the game until a friend starts him a website and brings him a new case: vampires in New Orleans.

 

He's skeptical, but when he discovers vampire blood being peddled on the street as the newest cheap thrill and comes face to face with a monster from legend, it's not so unbelievable anymore.

 

But things aren't always what they seem, especially in Dale's world, and it's up to him to figure out what's actually happening and ultimately decide which side he's really on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.L. Aarne
• Release date: Nov 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386665953

J.L. Aarne

J.L. Aarne currently lives in the Northwest United States. She was born in Washington, but she has moved around a lot and lived in many other places. She has two cats, Jack and Wally, and she is a compulsive collector of notebooks and coffee mugs, which she drinks tea out of. Aarne studied English and literature at the University of New Orleans. Her favorite fictional characters always seem to be the villains. Aarne blogs from time to time at [e-mail] You can also connect with her on Twitter @jl_aarne

Book preview

Chapter 1

THERE HADN’T BEEN A demon or otherwise supernatural being in his bar in over a week. Dale didn’t get out the bubbly to celebrate, but he considered it to be noteworthy.

He supposed he should have expected the place to be lousy with monsters when he had it built and then, as if the location alone was not enough, went and named it The Crossroads. One of his earliest customers had been the Devil. Capital D, as his friend Uriah sometimes liked to remind him, for a damn good reason. The bar was a homing beacon for supernatural creatures who, when the semi-retired huntsman who owned the place didn’t try to exorcise them or otherwise wreck their evening, had apparently told all of their monster friends about it. In many ways it was like the not-so-squeaky-clean cop opening a bar that then becomes a hangout for the denizens of the city’s underbelly. Which he was sure had happened somewhere, if only in TV Land.

Dale didn’t give a damn who they were or what they were up to as long as they weren’t getting up to it in his bar. Or killing people in Solagrove. Or screwing around with the forces of the universe in a way that would ruin his weekend. He was retired (sort of), but he had spent too much of his life hunting such creatures to look the other way if they really decided to start shit. Mostly they seemed to understand and respect that, which was nice since when they did show up they were some of his best customers. They paid in uncut precious stones and gold coins more often than not and they didn’t make a mess.

Still, he hadn’t quite managed to shake the lingering skin-crawling unease that came with the change in his dealings with them. They were monsters; he was a huntsman. It went against the grain of what he was to be so friendly with them.

Of course, something else Uriah liked to remind him of on occasion was that Dale had never really been very traditional about his job. Neither he nor James had ever had any reservations about using magic themselves, which was frowned upon in most circles, and all of their best friends were monsters. The year before, James had bargained with the Devil for his soul in a game of chess and won.

Don’t be a hypocrite, Bruyer, Dale muttered to himself.

Uriah was an angel which, among other things, made him a big fat know-it-all. It was an attitude Dale was pretty sure had come as a set with the wings. It still did not mean he knew everything.

He finished wiping down the bar and tossed the rag in the bucket on the floor. Kendal had already wiped down the tables before he wrapped up his shift and went home for the night, so Dale took the bucket into the back to dump it. He washed his hands, got his coat out of the office in the back and hit the lights.

Coyote was sitting on a stool at the bar when he emerged from the back and Dale halted. With the lights in the back off the shadows did their strange dance with his features, giving him the canine face of a coyote for just a moment when he turned his head. His eyes caught the light and flashed like copper pennies. He blinked and they were black hollows again, but that—the man—was the illusion and it was done for Dale’s sake.

Dale sighed, mentally tossed out his tally sheet and took a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket while eyeing Coyote suspiciously. He lit a cigarette, returned the pack to his pocket and leaned his hip against the counter beneath a shelf of whiskey bottles and shot glasses. It’s late, I’m going home, he said around an exhalation of smoke. What do you want?

A drink wouldn’t go amiss, Coyote said with a beckoning gesture of his first two fingers. He unfolded a sheet of paper with his other hand. And I’ve got you something, so cheer up, Bruyer. You’ve got a job.

Dale frowned at him and walked over to look at the computer printout Coyote laid down on the bar. What is this?

It’s an email, you idiot, Coyote said. I told you I was going to set you up a blog, remember?

You said you were kidding, Dale said.

I lied, Coyote said. He grinned and shrugged. It’s what I do. Anyway, it’s been pretty quiet since I set it up. No doubt due to your utter lack of interesting activities worth reporting. A few people here and there calling you a crackpot, but that’s it.

Dale slid his eyes up to him. ’Crackpot’?

Well... they may have been a bit more rude than that—it’s the internet remember—but basically, yeah, Coyote said. But then this evening, just out of curiosity, I checked the email and this was there.

Dale rolled his eyes, snatched the paper up and held it under the light that backlit the shelves along the wall to read it. As he read, his eyebrows inched up.

Mr. Bruyer my name is Belladonna. I hope this is the kind of thing you do. I don’t know what else to do. No one will believe me. My boyfriend Summer is missing. The police think he left but he wouldn’t do that. He was acting really strange for awhile before he disappeared. Summer said I was just being clingy and crazy but I’m not. I swear I’m not. He had new friends and they were so weird and I saw one of them the other day and he tried to act like he didn’t even know who I was talking about. Summer WHO? People have been disappearing for months. No one wants to say it and I know you’ll probably think I’m crazy too but it’s VAMPIRES!! I’ve seen them. I tried to report it but no one will listen to me. No one will believe me and I don’t blame them I guess because it sounds so insane. Please HELP!!

She gave a cell phone number and an address in New Orleans at the bottom.

Dale snorted, crumpled the page up and tossed it at the nearest trashcan. It bounced off the rim and landed on the mat. Coyote put his hand out. It bounced again like it was made of springy rubber and he caught it.

You think it’s a joke not a job, don’t you? Coyote asked, disappointed. Why?

Where should I start? Dale said. Belladonna and Summer? Vampires in New Orleans?

They’ve got to be somewhere, right? Coyote said. Belladonna is a bit much though, I’ll grant you that.

You’ll grant me—Never mind. I don’t care. Dale put his cigarette out on the bottom of a highball glass and rounded the bar. I’m going home. I’m tired. There’s a good chance my significant other is waiting for me in bed—naked—though God knows I’m too damn exhausted to properly take advantage of him. I don’t have time for this bullshit.

No, wait, Bruyer, Coyote said, following him as Dale left the bar. This is exactly the kind of bullshit you need to make some time for. Have you seen yourself lately?

I’ve gained back most of the weight and cut back on the drinking—which is ironic, I’ve been told, considering my current business, Dale said. He waited for Coyote to step outside, shut off the lights and pulled the door closed behind him. He locked it and started toward his car, Coyote falling in step with him. I look fine. A little tired some days, but better. Your concern though, it’s really touching.

Okay, fine. You look great. But aren’t you bored? Coyote said. And overworked? Really, you used to be so much more fun to play with.

Dale stopped when he reached his car. You’ve got Daphne. Go, I don’t know, take her dancing or something, he said. "I’m not going to New Orleans with you to look for some idiot girl’s missing goth boyfriend on the off chance there are actually vampires when it’s probably a bunch of rich slacker assholes with those cosmetic dentistry vampire cap things on their teeth getting wasted in the back of The Pub. The guy’s probably hiding from the girlfriend until the hickeys fade and his ass stops hurting."

"Yes, probably, but maybe not, Coyote said. It could as easily be vampires. And even if it isn’t vampires, wouldn’t it be worth checking it out just to get the fuck out of this town for a couple days?"

He stood on the other side of Dale’s car looking at him over the hood with a pleading expression. Somewhere in the trees an owl hooted. Dale considered him, considered the situation and decided that Coyote had likely had a fight with Daphne. Since Daphne was also Dale’s neighbor and friend and he and Coyote still didn’t always like each other, there were many reasons—other than the fact that he truly was exhausted—that he should refuse again and be done with it. Except Coyote was right; he was bored. He liked his place, liked the people who worked for him, liked being busy without any danger that someone or something was going to try to decapitate or disembowel him. But when all was said and done, he was not a barkeep, he was a huntsman and he was bored as hell.

Fine, I’ll go, Dale said.

Coyote grinned and tapped his fingers excitedly on the roof of the car. Yeah?

Yeah. I’m not wearing leather pants or fishnet or black lipstick or any of that shit though, Dale said. It’s a hunt first. No playing until I decide it’s a hoax. And don’t get in my way.

Sure, Coyote said, crossing his heart. Scout’s honor.

You want a ride home?

I wouldn’t say no if you’re offering,

Dale unlocked the car and got in. Coyote got in on the passenger side and buckled his seatbelt. It was a funny habit in immortal creatures, but Uriah did the same thing.

You get in a fight with Daphne? Dale asked as he started the car.

The kid was teasing the dog again. I hate that shit, Coyote said.

Dale knew Ritalin was overprescribed, but if ever a child had needed it, it was Daphne’s eldest grandson, Jack. He seemed inexhaustible and spent entirely too much of his time and energy terrorizing Daphne’s dog, Semjaza.

So what did you do to Jack? Dale asked.

Turned him into a cat, Coyote said.

Dale choked on an incredulous laugh and glanced over at him to see if he was serious. Coyote sat reclined in his seat, an arrogant, pleased look on his face. He was serious. Dale laughed.

Yeah. So, we had a fight. Mostly, it was her yelling , Coyote said. So, can I crash in your guestroom?

BY THE NEXT MORNING, Dale had nearly changed his mind. In the clearheaded light of day, going to New Orleans with Coyote seemed like one of those bad, self-destructive ideas he would have had when he drank more. There was still more than a little Brother Coyote the trickster in Coyote the semi-domesticated pain in the ass Dale knew. For all he knew, Belladonna’s beseeching email was nothing but a half-baked ploy to get him to play chauffeur for a weekend of barhopping.

However, if it wasn’t a trick and there really were vampires in New Orleans abducting pretty boys with stupid names for nefarious reasons, there were worse people to have in Dale’s corner than an old-world god with a mean streak. Besides, he really could use a break and Coyote was great for a good time if he wasn’t having it at your expense.

So, vampires, James said.

Dale was surprised to hear his voice and rolled over to find him lying there beside him, stretched out on top of the covers. It was the hot middle of summer and James slept naked, but he had put his pants back on, which meant he had showered and been up for a while already. He tried to be home at night when Dale got in, but he was almost always gone in the morning when he got up.

Reaping the souls of the dead wasn’t a job with a lot of downtime.

Why are you still here? Dale asked.

James raised an eyebrow at him and smiled. I thought you might be glad for the company, he said. We don’t spend enough time lazing about in bed on weekends if you ask me.

Right, Dale said. He didn’t really believe him, but he couldn’t see the harm in it. He stretched and rolled over to face him. Aren’t there dying people somewhere that need your attention?

More than you do? James asked. He made a dismissive scoffing sound. They’re dead. They’re not going anywhere. Well... probably not. And if they do, I’ll find them.

Dale noticed the curtains on the big window on his side of the bed were pulled closed. You’re having a bad day, aren’t you?

Bad day meant bad mental health day. Most of the time James had a remarkable amount of control over his own mental illness, to the point where most people couldn’t even tell that he wasn’t the picture of sanity. Most people didn’t know James Sandover very well though. There had been a time, before hunting and losing their parents and the death of their sister, when James could have gone a completely different way with his life. He had always been brilliant, but he hadn’t always been strong; he hadn’t needed to be. He had made himself strong and now most days he could walk outside, look up at the sky and never think about falling into it. He was not afraid; things were afraid of him.

Today was apparently not one of those days.

I’m... handling it, James said. He glanced down at the bed, not meeting Dale’s eyes and picked at a loose thread in their quilt. So, vampires, he tried again.

Dale sighed. Maybe.

Coyote definitely seems to think there are vampires, James said. His mouth twitched in a smile he tried to hide. In New Orleans.

Coyote turned Jack into a cat because he wouldn’t quit teasing the dog and it was annoying him, Dale said. There’s a good chance he’s full of shit and just wants to get out of town for a few days until Daphne calms down.

Doesn’t mean there aren’t still vampires in New Orleans, James pointed out. "Wait, Jack’s a cat now?"

He turned him back.

He was probably a lot cuter as a cat.

James really did not like children and Jack Branson was a particularly irritating child.

I think he’s going home to his dad next week, Dale said.

Good, James said.

He leaned over and ducked his head to kiss Dale. Dale let him and returned the kiss for a moment before he pulled away with a grimace. James was clean and awake and tasted like coffee and the lingering flavor of Crest toothpaste beneath that. His own mouth tasted foul with morning breath.

I have to eat something then brush my teeth, he said, and got up.

James slumped back on the bed with a huff. Fine, be that way, he said. Dale had his hand on the doorknob and James said, Wait, Dale.

Dale stopped, and because he knew James, he said, What did you do?

I might have darkened the windows, James said a little sheepishly. There are a lot of fucking windows in this house. You ever notice that?

Dale opened the door and peered out. James had indeed darkened all of the windows. He had cast a spell and turned the glass to panes of dark, opaque obsidian. Dale sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb, trying not to be annoyed. It wasn’t James’s fault and if anyone knew that, it was Dale, but it could still be frustrating and very irritating to deal with.

He could change the windows back, but there was no point as long as James was like this. He would only turn them black again as soon as he did, and as much power as Dale had, James had more; he couldn’t stop him.

He turned on the overhead light and went into the kitchen to get coffee, leaving the windows black for now. James followed him and sat at the table watching him slink half awake around the kitchen as he made his breakfast and smoked his first cigarette of the day. Coyote had yet to make an appearance, but the guestroom door was closed, which suggested he was sleeping in.

I can stay home if you need me to, Dale said. He sat down beside James with his coffee and a bowl of Fruit Loops cereal.

No. You should go. You want to, James said. He sat back and tried to look casual. He might have fooled anyone else, but he didn’t fool Dale. Besides, I can’t hide inside forever, right? I made a deal with the Devil. I don’t like to think what he’d do if I tried to welch now.

Nothing good, probably, Dale said.

No, nothing good, James agreed.

He shifted in his chair like a nervous kid on timeout and Dale ate his cereal and watched him out the corner of his eye. James had told him about Hell when he came back, but only briefly. The way he described his stay, it didn’t sound as bad as Dale suspected it had truly been. He thought James needed to talk about it, but dying and going to Hell wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one discussed in therapy.

James was like that. He had been like that since they were kids. He was fine with Dale needing him, but needing Dale the way they both knew he did didn’t always sit well with him.

I’ll stay if you want me to, Dale said. We’ve both been pretty busy. I’m thinking of hiring Eliza fulltime. We need another bartender and you like her.

I do, James said with a flicker of a smile. He had saved Eliza Harper’s life once, though the girl didn’t remember it. Still, you should go. Coyote will be livid if you back out now.

You don’t care about Coyote or his mood swings, Dale pointed out.

No, but if you stay, that’s one more reason for me not to leave the house and I have to leave the house, don’t I? James looked unhappy but determined. Besides, it’s vampires in New Orleans. You hate vampires and love New Orleans.

A vampire had ripped open James’s face in a bar in Denver years before and he still bore the scars. Dale really did hate vampires. They both did.

Dale finished his cereal and drank the milk in the bowl. Okay, he said. He got up to put the bowl in the sink and refill his coffee. I’ll go, but you have to promise to go to work before Lucifer sends someone after you.

James sat glaring down at the tabletop in front of him. Finally, he sighed. Yes, okay, I’ll go.

Okay. I’m going to grab a shower before I wake the savage beast.

Dale took a last drink of his coffee, left the mug on the counter and paused at the table to give James a proper good morning kiss. James put an arm around his waist and tried to pull him down into his lap, but Dale pushed him back and broke the kiss. James groaned, but he let him go and Dale went to shower.

The guestroom door was still closed when Dale emerged from the bathroom awhile later and Coyote wasn’t in the kitchen or living room. He knocked on the door. There was some shuffling and moving around inside the room. Footsteps approaching the door, then, Yeah?

You want to go to New Orleans, the bus leaves in an hour, Dale called.

Coyote grumbled under his breath. Dale could barely make it out and he couldn’t understand it in any case. It sounded like Navajo and Dale didn’t speak Navajo. All right, Coyote said after a minute.

Dale sat back down at the kitchen table and called Johanna, who tended bar at The Crossroads, and told her to get in touch with Eliza to offer her fulltime work as her understudy. Eliza already worked for him part-time cleaning up and bussing tables on weekends, she had painted the mural behind the stage and the sign out front and she designed the ads he ran in the local paper once a month. He liked the girl, Kendal liked her and James, who liked no one, liked her, so he threw her a little work whenever he could.

She’s a little young, ain’t she, boss? Johanna asked.

She just turned twenty-one. She’ll be fine. Be nice, Dale said.

Johanna sighed. I’m always nice.

Dale smiled. I know. Anyway, you’re gonna need the help. I’m going out of town this weekend.

Oh, Johanna said faintly.

She was likely imagining the horrible chaos she would have to oversee without him. There was also a chance that she was worried that some of their more... unusual customers would show up and he wouldn’t be there to keep them in line. Johanna was not a huntsman or from a legacy, she wasn’t familiar with magic. She was a modern girl with a good head on her shoulders who dismissed such things as hocus-pocus, but she also wasn’t stupid or unobservant and weird things happened around Dale that rational common sense could not explain.

You’ll be fine, Dale assured her, hoping it was true. If anyone gets out of hand, Kendal will take care of it.

Kendal Ness was a little guy, not very tall and skinny as a whippet, but he was ex-military and he could handle himself. Dale had seen him take down belligerent drunks who outweighed him by a hundred pounds.

And what if he can’t? Johanna asked.

Then call me and I’ll come home or send someone to deal with it, Dale said.

All right, boss, Johanna said, resigned.

He hung up and there was immediately a loud knock at the front door. He started to get up to answer it when the door opened and Daphne walked in looking furious. Dale sat back down.

Where is he? she demanded.

Dale pointed down the hall to the guest bedroom. Daphne marched through the kitchen, down the hall and banged on the door. She waited, but Coyote didn’t answer or open the door for her. She banged again, this time with the side of her fist.

You come outta there right now, she demanded. "Right now. I want it fixed, you understand me? Or you can just settle your ass down and stay here. Don’t bother coming home. You hear me?"

When no response was forthcoming, she stormed back down the hallway into the kitchen. At a loss over what else to do, she threw out her hands like she was brushing dirt off her shirt and fell into the chair at the table across from Dale.

You know what that silly ass did? she asked.

Dale could only imagine. He shook his head.

"Filled my damn kitchen with flowers. I got roses growing out of my fucking sink, she said. I got a frog pond in my bathtub. A frog pond. With frogs and lily pads."

Ah. He was trying to be romantic, Dale said.

"He couldn’t just give me a bouquet?" she said.

He overdid it a little, Dale agreed.

I’ll say, Daphne said. She dragged her hands through her hair, sending the little shells and pieces of mirror in her braids jangling. What am I supposed to do with him?

He’ll fix it, Dale assured her. If it helps, he probably only got carried away because he really cares. He wasn’t trying to fuck with you.

You don’t know that. He could have been doing just that, she said. That’s exactly the kind of foolishness he does.

It was, yes, but it was also the sort of thing that he did without meaning to when he wasn’t trying to play games. Coyote wasn’t human and he wasn’t mortal; he could alter reality with a snap of his fingers. Such creatures, in Dale’s experience, viewed the world differently.

You’re mad right now. I get it, Dale said. He did, too. James wasn’t the same as Coyote, but in many ways, he wasn’t that different. You’ll get over it. He’ll fix it and you’ll be fine. He’ll be sorry.

Well, he’s not sorry right now, is he? Daphne said.

Dale was alarmed to see tears well in her eyes and spill over. She dashed them away angrily, but her eyes immediately began to fill up again. I swear, sometimes I think he’s one of the worst ideas I ever had, she said.

Before he could say anything else, she got up and left. He heard her stomp down the steps outside, her feet crunching in the gravel of his driveway. When she was gone, he sat there for a minute feeling bad about the whole situation and mildly annoyed that he had been dragged into it at all.

I’m leaving in ten minutes! he called. Hurry up!

The door at the end of the hallway opened and Coyote peered out. His hair was unbraided, sleep tangled and fell around his shoulders like long Spanish moss. There was a line on his cheek from his pillowcase. Did she leave? he asked.

Yeah, she left, but you’re going over there to get rid of all the flowers and frogs and shit before we go anywhere, Dale said. "She was sitting in my kitchen crying, you asshole."

Coyote blinked at him in surprise. Really? He sighed and pulled his long hair back from his face, fastened it at the back of his neck in a loop with an elastic band, and looked past Dale at the windows. He frowned. What happened to the windows?

James, Dale said with a sigh of his own. Seriously, go apologize to her and get rid of the pond in the bathroom. And the roses. Roses growing out of the sink? Come on, man. Anyway, I’ll wait for you, but hurry up.

As romantic gestures go, it seems to have backfired, Coyote said. He pulled a white T-shirt on and started to leave. He paused. "She was crying?" he asked.

Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe you’re stressing her out, Dale said.

Not me, Coyote said. I’m delightful. I bet it’s the kid. Or the kid’s dad.

Daphne did not get along well with her son-in-law, Jeff, but Dale didn’t think that was the reason behind how upset she was. She had never gotten along with Jeff. If Daphne was overstressed, it probably had something to do with her grandson being turned into a cat and her house sprouting like a Chia Pet.

"I don’t know, but just go tell her you’re sorry. Give her a rose. That actually works a lot better."

Coyote left. While he was gone, Dale packed an overnight bag with a few changes of clothes and some spell casting items, loaded his favorite handgun and dug through the closet in the bedroom for a machete or a really big knife. James was gone; he assumed to work, so he wrote him a note and left it on the dresser.

Will try to be back Sunday. I’ll call you from the hotel. Be good.

—D

He got his hat, hefted his bag over his shoulder and went outside to wait in the car for Coyote.

Chapter 2

THEY MET BELLADONNA in Jackson Square within sight of the cathedral. She was waiting for them when they arrived with a slim, petite boy with blond hair so pale it was nearly white. She was crying and he was doing his best to hold her with one arm and not drop the lacy black parasol he held in his other hand, but she wasn’t a small woman and it didn’t look easy. Still, he was managing it and glaring death at gawking passersby like an angry terrier, silently daring them to speak.

Dale and Coyote approached them uncertainly.

Hello? Dale said.

Why don’t you mind your own business and keep moving, ass-face? the blond boy snapped.

Up close he didn’t look quite as young as Dale had first assumed. He was in his twenties, he was just little. And fierce.

Um. Dale glanced at Coyote, but he was no help at all. He had his thumbs hooked in his belt loops while he watched it, smiling. Okay, look, I’m Dale Bruyer, Dale tried again. I’m supposed to meet someone—

The young man looked him and Coyote up and down, assessing them. From the website? The BruyerMonster.com site?

Dale glared at Coyote. The ridiculous name had been another of his brilliant ideas. Bruyer monster, like drier monster. Ha ha.

Yeah, he said. That’s me.

Belladonna lifted her head from the blond man’s shoulder and wiped at her wet brown eyes with both hands, smearing her glittery black eye makeup across her cheeks. I’m sorry, she said. I’m not usually such a mess.

She was dressed from head to toe in black. Her hair was wavy and fell to the middle of her back, dyed a color of black that shined blue under the hot summer sun. Her acrylic nails looked made to pierce flesh. She was a pretty girl with a round face and perfect, china doll features that even dark makeup applied with a heavy hand and melting down her cheeks could not disguise.

This is Nightmare, Belladonna said, introducing her companion.

Coyote coughed on a laugh and Nightmare scowled at him.

Ah... okay, Dale said.

Nightmare was elfin looking with long white-blond eyelashes, light blue eyes and pale skin, suggesting the hair was not a dye job. He wore a black T-shirt and black, silver and blue plaid pants covered in buckles and zippers. His wallet was on a chain of linked skulls, his bottom lip was pierced twice and he was also wearing metallic blue eyeliner. Both arms were sleeved in tattoos that he looked too young to have purchased without first getting permission from a parent.

You going to say something or just stare? he demanded. ’Cause if you look much longer, I might have to start charging you.

Dale grinned and put out his hand. Nightmare eyed it for a moment like it might bite him, but in the end he shook it.

I’m Dale. This is Coyote, Dale said, gesturing over his shoulder at Coyote with a thumb.

Nightmare and Belladonna glanced at Coyote. Cool, Nightmare said.

Coyote smiled.

I’m so glad you came, Belladonna said. I’m so worried, you have no idea.

Sure, we’re glad to, Dale said. You want to find someplace with air conditioning and sit down so we can talk?

There’s a place around the block, Nightmare said.

Belladonna pulled herself together and they started walking. She stayed close to Nightmare’s side and glanced at Dale and Coyote every few minutes, but they didn’t talk.

Dale silently asked for and received a pack of cigarettes from his hat, lit one and hurried to stuff them in his pocket before anyone saw him with them and tried to bum one. He wasn’t stingy, but there was a certain point where such things became ridiculous. He had cut back since they had arrived in the French Quarter because every time he lit up, complete strangers flocked around him like seagulls around a rest stop picnic table to bum one.

Can I get one of those? Nightmare asked.

Dale huffed a soft laugh and gave him a cigarette. Nightmare smirked, sharing the joke, and walked on as he lit it.

So, you really think your boyfriend was abducted by vampires? Dale asked.

Yeah, we do, Nightmare said. At the inquiring look Dale gave him, he shrugged. What? He’s my boyfriend, too, okay?

Okay, Dale said.

You got a problem with that?

Belladonna put a hand on his arm and gently squeezed. Baby, everyone’s not like that.

Dale’s boyfriend’s been dead almost two years, Coyote put in. He’s got no room to judge anybody.

Oh, I’m so sorry, Belladonna said.

He means he’s still my boyfriend, Dale clarified. And he died.

Looking good for a dead man though, I’ll give him that, Coyote said.

Belladonna and Nightmare exchanged a look.

So, wait.... What? Belladonna asked.

It’s kind of hard to explain, Dale said.

Necrophilia, Coyote said helpfully.

Will you shut the fuck up? Dale snapped. He’s kidding, he added.