A VIPER IN THE DARK

     I slogged through the front door, the overhead bell chimed too cheerful for my mood. Behind espresso machines, syrups, and coffee paraphernalia, the barista’s reflection in the wall-to-wall mirror didn’t match her movements. I stopped in the pathway of customers who fled in deliberate fashion, having achieved their caffeine fix from her. She smile at me with teeth too sharp for the overhead, fluorescent lighting.

     I’d land, get out of the airport, check on my coffee shop, and then head home to sleep off the last jet-lag of a wasted and sidelined trip. Instead, I was staring at something wrong behind my counter. My hand palmed the phone in my pocket, but I’d already read all the messages stacked up during nine hours on a plane and two in customs on either end. 

     Half my staff had called in sick, and Soren, my head server, had been blowing up my phone in a panic, but I didn’t know the creature behind the counter.

I exhaled, long and low. My sanctuary hummed with the chaos of orders, and under it all, the scent told me what my eyes had already picked up on. Resin and ink-black. My particular skill, a synesthesia of scent, layered imagery over smells, in particular, the identity of supernatural races which was a handy trick for a fixer of my caliber. 

     For a brief moment, I saw her dark claws instead of blunt fingers curled around the latte cup, red eyes burning in place of common brown. When I blinked, the vision dissolved, leaving only the aftertaste of ancient ferality. Vampire.

     Then cued by the cosmic stage manager in the wings, Soren clomped down from the upstairs study lounges, black eyeliner razor sharp, tray in one hand, list in the other. Boots with more buckles than sense echoed on the wooden treads. He spotted me and his relieved smile flared then flattened.

I gestured him over, sharp enough that two customers trying to leave nearly collided with me. Once he was close enough I asked softly, but forcefully, “What in the seven hells is going on here?”

     “She arrived a little after sunset when you didn’t pick up, Nathan,” Soren said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Said she was here for you.”

     “And you just let her behind the counter?”

     “I thought you sent her.” The relief and chill attitude faded away as he read the tension in my shoulders.

     “Order up!” she chirped, her reflection lagging a beat behind her tilt of the head.

     I didn’t bother lowering my voice to Soren. “I would have mentioned new staff. Get back there and take over. She and I need a word.”

     Soren hesitated, his shoulders slouched toward me.

     “Handle it.” The snap in my tone hit too hard, but he straightened. 

     “Yes, boss.”

     I leaned on the counter. She poured another latte, claws hidden for now, but the mortal customer’s hand still shook as they paid. If mundanes ever listened to that voice in their subconscious our days of being hidden would be over in a day, maybe two. 

     The mirror behind her rippled faintly, her glamour stretched thin. Mine never faltered, even after centuries. I had more to loose if it did, much, much more.

     “Hello,” she said sweetly. “Welcome back.”

     “Soren will take it from here. Come with me.”

     “But this so much fun.”

     “My business is not your plaything.”

     Her smile slid off her face at my snap. Red flickered in her pupils. She threw the cup down. Porcelain shattered across the tile, and the shop froze. Steam hissed, spoons clinked to a halt, and every mortal head turned our way. Their instincts catching the wrongness even if their minds denied it.

     She ripped off her apron and hurled it at Soren. He caught it, concern etched into his face. He wouldn’t ask questions. That was why he was my longest-running mundane employee. If he never questioned, the vélos need never know his name.

     “Apologies for the mishap,” I told the nearest customers. “Soren will take care of you.”

     Then I caught her arm and dragged her through the swinging door into the kitchen. The thud of porcelain and the murmur of mortals fell away behind us.

     I threw her into the far wall. She hit nose-first, laughed, and smeared blood across her lips like chocolate. Hunger punched me in the gut. Hot, copper-sweet, and not sustainable at all coming from another vampire. Days without feeding left me trembling, my claws itching to tear.

     “There’s one rule,” I said, stalking closer. “And it applies to all of us. Even you.”

     She spat red to the floor. “You made more of scene than I did, fixer. You are late.”

     “One. Rule.” The words carried the weight of centuries. The other half of my missed messages were from the second in command of the North American Vampire Family, Vanessa. 

     Her lips pressed thin. My glamour or not, I let her see my claws slide free with a whisper. She eyed them, and licked one more drop of blood away. Silence stretched as she rebelled against me. 

     “Say it,” I reiterated, giving no ground on her point, “or Vanessa will have to send another lackey to find out what happened to you.”

     “Stay secret,” she muttered. “Stay unknown.”

     “Exactly.” I bared my teeth. “And here you are. In a piss-poor glamour, scaring customers, threatening my business. If you wanted to send up a flare for the vélos, you couldn’t have done better except to call the Basileia yourself and ask to be invited to tea.”

     She straightened her shoulders. “Vanessa sent you to South America for a reason.You are late reporting your results.”

     As hungry as I was, my reserves were minimal, but the cheeky upstart’s tone landed on my last nerve. A nerve still raw and reeling from seeing my last tenuous lead evaporate into the jungle. A small tap against my low reserves, and my hands moved faster than her eyes could track. Claws swiped against left cheek and right shoulder. Furrows opened up and thick blood welled and dripped to the floor.

     She fell backwards against the wall. Pans and some to go cups on the counter knocked askew at her movements.

     “I answer to no one but Liang Mae, fledgling. No one sends me. Vanessa will get her information when I deem it appropriate.” My eyes shone with their own red inner light now. Fangs slowly stretched my lips over additional incisors and sharp points. Fear and the knowledge she had misjudged her errand finally cowered her.

     “I—I—was sent.”

     “I know why you were sent. I don’t care. I am telling you that whatever Vanessa will do to you, you won’t live to see if you don’t get the fuck out of my shop right now.”

     Her eyes darted to the kitchen door. A thin cover between us and the rest of the mundanes in the other room. The wounds on her healed quickly as I watched her think through her options. She’d fed very recently. Again my hunger panged.

     “The back door,” I said, and pointed at the heavy steel, push-bar door to her right. 

     She started at my movement, hesitated a moment longer, then bolted. The door crashed open at her speed as she disappeared into the Atlanta night.

     I sighed and sagged inward as the door slowly hissed closed again. Sunlight and damnation. Other vampires made basic tasks so tedious.

     I checked my glamour reflection in the small mirror just inside the employee break room. All telling signs of being a vampire, hidden away. I washed my hands in the prep sink. 

     Back to being a slightly middle eastern looking, roughly thirties-ish, slight-heighted man. At this rate, I had to work until close before I could rest and finish licking my wounds on the fruitless trip. After so many centuries, the disappointment should have been familiar, like an old song coming on the radio again. But instead, it dug furrows into my mind. Why was I a vampire? Who made me? What had happened to my family?

     Hours before I there’d be time for a meal of blood in peace, and hide the evidence without calling more vélos attention. I smoothed the collar on my last white button down and checked the tuck into my black slacks. This was as good as it was going to get tonight.