I snorted. “Like anyone is dumb enough to let you wield anything sharper than a butter knife.”
“Eh,” she shrugged, “Who needs ‘em?” She flashed her fangs at me. “As the only master vampire, the newly turned primarily rely on my diplomatic skills and my ability to control their will if any of them get out of control. Isn’t that a laugh? Me using diplomacy.”
Vivien had clearly just learned the word diplomacy and was swinging it about as if it were a large appendage between her legs. Good for her.
The usual string of leather was wrapped a dozen times around her neck, hiding the bite of the master vampire who turned her. Thankfully, he was long gone.
Little lines of exhaustion snaked out and around her eyes. They hadn’t been there a couple months ago. The beginning of my day was the end of hers, being a night dweller. Weirdly enough, the lack of windows in Vegas hotels made it safe for her to stay up past her bedtime when the sun came up.
“How is it, managing the newly turned?” Vivien had been appointed by Osiris— an Egyptian god so powerful he wasn’t on our plane— to be the shepherd of the vampires. When humans were turned, they were scared, hungry, and sometimes reckless. My vibrant, rebellious friend was now in charge of handling all those situations.
She frowned. “A pain in the neck.” She rubbed her neck as if someone had tried to bite her. Maybe they had. “But you know what really chaps my ass?”
“Do tell,” I asked.
Vivien’s fingers curled around the edges of the table. “Grim and I got into an argument the other night, and do you know how he ended it?” Fire blazed in her eyes.
“With sex?” I guessed. That was the usual method.
She waved a hand. “That was later, so yes, but no. That uptight bastard had the gall to hit me with a pillow. Right in the face.” Her words came out an indignant screech.
“That bastard,” I responded in an even, dry tone.
Vivien stood up, hands still gripping the table. “He thinks he won the argument, but now he’s started a war.”
The maniacal gleam in her eye should have scared me. The fact that I was only amused probably meant I was deranged as well.
“So have you retaliated yet?”
She settled back into her chair. “Oh, I’ve got plans. Don’t you worry, I’ve got plans.” Vivien might as well have been drumming her fingers together like a James Bond villain. Lord help us all.
“You realize this war you’ve declared is likely a coping mechanism and distraction from being the only Master vampire, right?” I blinked at her innocently.
Her eyelids flickered as her head tilted. Time was momentarily suspended as she absorbed the weight of the words. The little men running Vivien’s brain seemed to freeze up, as if they hadn’t considered it before.
When the gears finally began to work again, she sniffed. “So what? It doesn’t hurt to indulge in a little play, a little escapism. So I don’t have to think about the grief of a vampire who realizes she’ll outlive her entire family.” A shadow passed over her eyes for a moment before she snapped out of it and put all her focus back on me. “Speaking of immortals, tell me what happened last night.”
I squirmed in my seat.
“W-what are we t-talking about, ladies?” Aaron asked. He twirled the third chair around and plopped down in it, handing a blended coffee drink piled high with whipped cream to Vivien. Vampires may subsist off blood, but my friend had a sweet tooth that was out of control.
There were few people milling about the Sinopolis lobby this early in the morning, making it perfect for us to have a mini hang first thing. Our little threesome morning chats had become one of my favorite rituals.
“Grim asked Miranda to kill a god last night,” Vivien explained without preamble.
“Way to put me on the spot,” I hissed at my traitorous friend.
No one was around to hear the insane summation, and what human would believe us? Still, it didn’t settle well.
Aaron’s eyebrows shot up. He wore his black smock with the skull design encircled by the café’s name. The logo read “Good to the Last Breath.”
Aaron brushed the wild mane of blond hair, naturally bleached by the sun, from his glowing, tanned face. Vivien and I agreed he resembled Patrick Swayze from the surfer heist movie, Point Break. When we told him of our conclusion, his blinding white smile nearly cracked his entire face. We noted to be careful not to feed his ego too much in the future.
It didn't hurt that Aaron was an avid surfer from California and an adrenaline junkie. While he wasn’t near the waves anymore, he spent most of his time rock climbing, skydiving, or learning to fly a helicopter.
Aaron was also one of the very few humans to know gods, vampires, and more lived among us in plain sight.
“D-did you? Kill him, I mean?” he asked me. Years ago, he got hit in the jugular with a surfboard and was left with a permanent stutter, but it didn’t seem to skin a single slice off his confidence. In fact, with speech therapy, his stutter had lessened slightly.
