Hour write 9/3 (Patreon)

"So, Cassie, I was wondering," came the ominous line as Cassie leaned in, scrubbing the espresso machine, "are you a vampire?"

Cassie pulled her head out of the machine's guts to regard her coworker.  "Why'd you ask that, Bob?" she said with a smile as she polished the nozzle.  They always asked, sooner or later.  Well, except for Kevin, but Kevin had way more issues than wondering if she was a bloodsucking minion of darkness.

"Well, you always work nights," he said with that sickly smile, trying to keep all this joking.  And it was a joke.  Everyone knew vampires weren't real.  "I mean, I do too, but I mix it up with swing shifts too."

"I like working nights.  I don't have to deal with as many customers," she said as she straightened and wiped her hands off.  "I mostly just get everything ready for the morning."  Oh, sure, there were other occasional midnight travelers at the 24 hour coffee shop.  People needing an egg coissant at 3 AM with their preffered caffiene.  And the college students were always coming by.  "Plus, the pay's better."

"Okay, yeah but... there's also your eyes."

"My eyes?  What's wrong with my eyes?" she asked crossing her arms as she smiled at him, watching him squirm.

"They're red," he answered.

"I have ferrochromia.  Too much iron in my blood.  It turns them red," she said.  "It's on wikipedia."

That made him blink.  "Well, oh.  What about your teeth?"

She grinned at him.  "What about them?"

"Well, they're kinda pointy," he said.  "So are your ears."

She knelt down and looked at her reflection in the coffee machine, running her teeth over them.  "Yeah, I guess they are, but my folks couldn't afford braces when I was a kid.  As for the ears, blame my dad."  she straightened and crossed her arms, smiling as she waited for the next line.  "If you're wondering about Millie and the cross thing, I really don't like catholism."

"Well, there was that garlic crepe you threw up last month," he said with a nervous smile.

"Food allergies, Bob.  Lots of people have them.  Garlic makes me heave.  Good thing I'm not Italian, huh?" she said as she leaned back against the counter.

"Well, you also don't show up on the security cameras," he said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"So I'm to blame because Allie put in crappy cameras?  You don't show up as little more than a blur on them too," she countered.  "Look, Bob, here's the question you should really be asking yourself.  Not 'Is Cassie a Vampire'.  It's 'Does Cassie tell Allison that he plays Pokemon when he should be cleaning the toilet?'  Well?"

He gave a sheepish little chuckle.  "Okay.  Okay.  I was just wondering.  Millicent's sure you're a vampire though.  Like, a drinking blood vampire."

"I told her it was a strawberry smoothie!" Cassie said as she threw her hands up in exasperation.  "I'm a gothy barrista that likes to work nights and sleep all that.  That doesn't make me a vampire.  Pasty, sure, but not a vampire."  She crossed her arms with a pout.  "Not that that wouldn't be awesome if it did."

Bob relaxed.  "Okay.  Fine.  I give."  He checked the clock.  "Mind if I take my break?"

"Sure.  It's pretty dead.  I can handle one customer," she said, pointing at a bald, pale man sitting alone in the corner booth, wearing sunglasses at 3AM.  "If anyone is a vampire, it's that guy.  Talk about pointy ears."

"Right," he snorted and then turned and slipped into the back.  She took a washcloth and approached the bald, pasty fellow and started to wash the table next to him.

"I can't believe you told that boy all that, Cassandra," he said in a thick, slavic accent.

"What?  It's all true.  I have a blood condition.  You gave me the pointy ears.   My parents couldn't afford braces when I was a kid.  You might as well call the garlic thing a food allergy, and since the Vatican wants us dead, I have issues with catholism.  The security cameras are crap thanks to a little grease smeared on the lens."  She paused, tapping her cheek with a black enameled finger.  "Oh, and I make a buck and a half more working nights."

"In the old days I would have ripped his spine out and dumped his corpse in a river," he sighed.  "Today there's the book of faces and the interwebs and you can't kill even a moron like that one without alerting a half dozen law enforcement agencies. Eh..." he tished, curling his lip and showing a much more pronounced fang.

"Facebook.  Facebook and internet, Vladimyr," she corrected gently.

"Who can keep up?  There was the big war and the bigger war and now I can't tell if it's the rock and roll or the rapping or whatever it's called," he pulled down his glasses, exposing his brilliant red eyes.  "You are doing well?"

"I'm an independent vampire barista, Vladimyr.  Assistant manager, even.  I pay my rent, and get to have some fun on my nights off.  I'm good," Cassie said, curling her black panted lips before her smile faded.  "How are you, Vlad?"

He curled up into himself, holding a tepid cup of tea he hadn't touched.  "I made a mistake, my little nightlight.  A mistake that now I have to answer for."  He gave a hapless smile.  "An answering I may not survive."

She stared a moment and then slipped into the seat opposite him.  "What happened?"

"I will not subject the details on you.  I was given a task.  I failed.  Now I must answer for it.  You, are not involved."  She started to speak and he raised a finger.  "I insist.  I've tried to keep you safe from our politics, and I won't let you endanger yourself on my behalf.  This is my responsibility."

Now she felt alarmed.  She told his cold hands and squeezed them.  "Vladimyr.  Sire.  Dad.  What's going on?"

He sighed.  "I trusted someone I shouldn't have trusted, and for that, something precious was taken.  I must-"  He paused, his pointed ear turned towards the door.  "I must go."  He pulled his hands free, then passed his sunglasses to her, set them on her face.  "You stay safe, my little nightlight.  You brought joy to a foolish old vampire."  

Then he rose as the door chimed.  In strode two more people that looked as if they were auditioning for roles as secret service agents.  They also wore glasses, shiny patrol style glasses.  They folded their hands over their hips as they stared at him.  "Vladimyr," said one, his voice thick.

"You missed your appointment," said the other.

"I'm coming.  I'm coming," he said, rising up.  "I was just leaving a tip," he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded 5 dollar bill, pressing it into her hands.  "Good bye," he said, giving her a nod as he walked towards the pair.

She clasped the bill in both hands.  The pair stared at her, analyzing, weighing if a slaughter would be worth the investigation.  Then Vladimyr stepped out.  One followed.  The other continued staring for a moment longer, then ducked out as well.

What should she do?  Follow?  They'd take her too.  Call the police?  That'd be an utter disaster!   She trembled as she took out her phone, then put it away.  Took it out again and considered her contacts, and put it away again.  The few vampires she knew wouldn't want to get involved.  Automatically, she gathered up the tea cup.

Then she felt it.  An agony like a fiery sun exploding in her chest.  The pain was so intense, all she could do was bend over and clutch her sternum, the cup shattering in her grip.  It only lasted a minute, then gone.  

Vladimyr, her sire, her de-facto father, was dead.

She collapsed into a seat and opened the five dollar bill.  There, written on the back side, was an address.

The door creaked open and Bob stepped out.  "Did we have a customer?" he asked, then relaxed.  "Oh, that creepy old dude is gone.  Cool."  Then he stared at her.  "Uh, are you okay?  You... there's something on her face."

She reached up and wiped away her tears, then stared at the blood smeared across her palm.  "I accidentally cut myself.  Stupid of me, smearing blood everywhere,"  she said as she rose and headed for the back room.  "I'll go clean up."